Walter sat at his kitchen table when Nora arrived with Caleb.
His sling rested against a folded dish towel.
He looked older than he had at the cafe.
“I found Ada,” Nora said.
Walter gripped the edge of the table.
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
He covered his mouth with his good hand.
Caleb placed a phone on the table.
“She agreed to talk.”
Walter stared at the screen as though it might disappear.
Caleb dialed the number.
Ada answered after three rings.
“Walter?”
He made a small sound.
“I’m here.”
“I hear you’ve been carrying my mitten around in your head.”
Walter began to cry.
“I thought I left you.”
“You crawled ahead because Ruth told you to.”
“I let go.”
“She held my other hand.”
Walter bent over the table.


“I looked back, and I couldn’t see you.”
“The smoke was thick.”
“I should have waited.”
“You were seven.”
The words silenced him.
Ada continued in a steadier voice.
“I remember you trying to pull me toward the hatch.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Ruth could, and she did.”
Walter drew a breath that shook his shoulders.
“I went to the ceremony when I turned eighteen.”
“I know.”
“I thanked the wrong man.”
“I know that too.”
“Did you hate me?”
Ada paused.
“I hated seeing your face on a stage while mine was left out of the picture.”
Walter closed his eyes.
“That was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know how to repair it.”
“You can start by telling the truth without pretending you remember every minute.”
Walter nodded even though Ada could not see him.


Nora watched Caleb move a glass of water closer to his father.
Ada asked whether Walter still liked yellow kites.
He laughed through his tears.
“I haven’t flown one in fifty years.”
“Then maybe it’s time.”
The call ended with a promise to speak again.
Walter remained seated for several minutes.
“I was afraid she’d died because I was weak,” he said.
Nora pulled out the chair opposite him.
“You were a frightened boy who survived.”
Walter touched the photograph.
“Your mother knew how to speak to frightened children.”
“She wasn’t always patient with me,” Nora replied.
He smiled faintly.
“That’s how I know she was real.”

CHAPTER EIGHT A: THE COST OF A QUESTION

Denise waited until the cafe closed before she approached Nora at the sink.
The last customer had left a half-eaten muffin beside a cold cup of tea.
“Elliot Voss called,” Denise said.
Nora turned off the water.
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether you were using work hours to contact people about the hall.”
“Did you tell him?”
“I told him the cafe doesn’t discuss employees with strangers.”
Nora studied her supervisor.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
Denise folded a towel.
“I’ve had a long day.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because I want you to know he’s asking questions.”
Nora pulled the plug from the sink.
“Your father worked on the fire investigation.”
Denise’s expression tightened.
“Leave him out of it.”
“He was there.”
“He spent twenty years trying to forget that day.”
“So did Walter.”
Denise slapped the towel onto the counter.
“You think everybody can afford to fight a man like Voss?”
Nora felt the old familiar sting of being told her questions were too expensive.
“My mother couldn’t afford it either.”
Denise looked toward the dark windows.
“She came here once.”
Nora stopped moving.
“When?”
“Before you started working here.”
“Why?”
“She wanted to speak to my father.”
“Did he come?”
“No.”
Denise swallowed.
“I told her he wasn’t interested.”
Nora leaned against the sink.
“Did he say that?”
“No.”
“Then why did you?”
“Because he had just started sleeping through the night again.”
The cafe’s refrigerator clicked on behind them.
Denise picked up the towel and folded it again.
“I was wrong to speak for him.”
Nora looked at the woman who had supervised her for three years.
“Does he know she came?”
“No.”
“Then tell him.”
Denise nodded.
“I will.”
Nora dried her hands and hung the towel where it belonged.
She did not forgive Denise on the spot.
She did not need to make that decision before the morning shift.