Arthur looked toward the open drawer.
“Because once I said it, I didn’t know how to unsay it.”
“You could have called.”
“I could have.”
“Gone to her.”
“I could have.”
“Why didn’t you?”
His answer was painfully ordinary.
“Because every year I waited made the next year harder.”
Evelyn tried to put the photograph back.
Arthur stopped her.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Leave it out.”
The following morning, Arthur came to my townhouse.
No Mercer binder.
No proposal.
No legal folder.