Two days later, I set the first trap.

We were talking of nothing in particular, and I let the memory drift up as if by accident.

“Do you remember that little bed and breakfast Santiago and I went to, out in Fredericksburg?” I said.

“The one with the good coffee.

We were in room 204, I think, weren’t we.”

He answered before he could think, the way you answer about your own life.

“It was 207,” he said.