“He knew where I was,” she said.

“He knew all along.”

She walked over to a little bookcase tucked in the corner of the narrow living room.

She drew a heavy blue velvet photo album off the bottom shelf and brushed a film of gray dust off the cloth cover with her palm.

She laid the album flat on the wooden dining table and undid the brass clasp without waiting for me to sit.

“Come and look at October nineteen eighty-nine,” she said.