Several teenagers were working at large tables.
A man stood near the far wall helping a boy repair a chair.
Dark hair.
Gray at the temples.
Kind brown eyes.
The same crooked smile I'd seen in the photograph.
Julian Mercer.
He looked up.
When he saw me, the screwdriver slipped from his hand.
“Mrs. Ward?”
I nodded.
“Hello, Julian.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then he turned toward one of the teenagers.
“Sam, could you help everyone finish this section?”
The boy nodded.
Julian wiped his hands on a cloth.
He approached slowly.
“I didn't expect you.”
“I didn't expect to come.”
A sad smile touched his lips.
“That's fair.”
We stood awkwardly.
Then he said:
“Would you like some tea?”
I almost laughed.
Thomas had always offered tea when he didn't know what else to say.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Julian led me into a small office.
There were bookshelves, old photographs, children's drawings, and a desk covered in paperwork.
