She smelled like strawberry shampoo.
“Dad said you used to be a teacher,” she announced.
“I did.”
“What did you teach?”
“English and literature.”
Her eyes widened.
“I love books!”
I smiled.
“Then I think we're going to get along.”
Over lunch, Lucy told me everything.
She loved drawing.
Hated mushrooms.
Wanted a dog.
Thought her father was terrible at cooking.
Julian protested.
“I make excellent spaghetti.”
Lucy looked at me solemnly.
“He burns it.”
I laughed so hard my eyes watered.
Thomas used to burn spaghetti.
He would insist he'd made it crispy on purpose.
For a second, grief struck me.
Julian noticed.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
“Just remembering something.”
He didn't press.
And I was grateful.
After lunch, we walked through the park.
Lucy ran ahead toward the ducks.
Julian and I followed.
He kept his hands in his coat pockets.
Finally, he spoke.
“I'm sorry about the newspaper.”
