“He said you wanted a house with yellow curtains.”
I could barely speak.
“I was eighteen.”
“He remembered.”
For fifty-five years, I had wondered whether Thomas carried me with him the way I carried him.
Now an old man across my kitchen table was telling me he had.
Then anger arrived.
Hard.
Fast.
“You lived across from me.”Anatomy
Walter looked down.
“Yes.”
“For twenty-eight years.”
“Yes.”
“You knew who I was?”
“From the first day.”
I stood.
“And you said nothing?”
His face tightened.
“I couldn’t.”
“You couldn’t?”
“No.”
“You could wave from your porch.”
“Yes.”
“You could shovel my driveway.”
His eyes lifted.
I froze.
“You did that?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Oh my God.”
Walter looked away.
“You mowed my yard too.”
“Sometimes.”
“You fixed the loose porch step.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“All these years.”
He reached inside his coat.
“There’s something else.”
