“So you've known about Thomas all these years.”
“Yes.”
“And about Raymond?”
His face darkened.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“Tell me.”
Mr. Harrison looked toward the window.
Then he brought out an old cedar box.
Inside were letters.
Dozens of them.
Some were addressed to Thomas.
Others to Eleanor.
And several bore Raymond's name.
Mr. Harrison placed one in front of me.
“Eleanor wrote this when Julian was three months old.”
I unfolded it.
The paper was fragile.
The handwriting small.
Dear Arthur,
Thomas came yesterday.
He brought money for the baby and asked whether we needed a heater.
I told him we were managing.
He said I shouldn't have to manage alone.
I know what people would think if they knew his name was on Julian's certificate.
They would think I had stolen another woman's husband.
My heart stopped.
I kept reading.
But Thomas has never been my lover.
