Evelyn’s face became pale.
“I remember rain.”
“It wasn’t raining.”
The answer came gently, but Evelyn flinched.
“I remember the porch being wet.”
“Walter washed it every morning,” Daniel said.
Evelyn pressed her fingers to her temple.
“I heard voices. I came into the hallway. Walter told me you had changed your mind.”
“I hadn’t.”
“He said you were leaving for good.”
Elena opened her mouth, then closed it.
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“I thought I watched you walk away.”
“You may have,” Elena said. “I left after he gave me the paper.”
“I should have stopped you.”
“You did not know what he had told me.”
“I should have asked.”
Daniel looked at his mother.
“We all should have asked.”
The sentence held no sharpness.
Only sorrow.
Elena removed a stack of envelopes from the folder.
“These are the letters that came back.”
Each envelope had been marked with the same message.
