What his secrets meant.
And now, finally, someone was reminding me that my life mattered in this story too.
That afternoon, Mr. Harrison called.
“Margaret, I found something Thomas wanted you to have.”
I closed my eyes.
“Another envelope?”
He gave a sad little laugh.
“Yes.”
“Thomas certainly loved envelopes.”
“He was never good at difficult conversations.”
“No,” I whispered. “He wasn't.”
I returned to Mr. Harrison's apartment.
This time, I looked around more carefully.
There were photographs of Julian on the mantel.
Childhood pictures.
Graduation.
His wedding.
Lucy as a baby.
I frowned.
“Why do you have so many photographs of Julian?”
Mr. Harrison smiled.
“Because I helped raise him.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Eleanor was my younger sister.”
I stared.
Another connection.
Another piece of the puzzle.
He continued.
“After she died, Julian and I became closer than ever. I had no children of my own.”
I sat down slowly.
