Some days I miss him so badly I have to sit down.

I brought the note to Warren’s apartment, a surprisingly modest place compared with the buildings that bore his name.

He had moved there after his second marriage ended years earlier.

Books covered every surface; a half-finished wooden model ship sat on a desk beside the window.

He read the note slowly.

“I did want to know,” he whispered.

“I know that now.”

“I should have come myself.”