She wore a pale green sweater and loose pants, forearm crutches tucked carefully beneath each arm. A canvas tote hung from one shoulder, and a medical bracelet circled her wrist.

Surprise crossed her face, then fear, then confusion, and finally something stranger. Recognition.

“You’re Eugene,” she said. Not a question.

My mouth felt dry. “And you are Carol Martinez.”

She nodded slowly. “How do you know me?”

Her eyes shifted to the photo album, then back to me. “Helen said you might come here eventually.”