She was staring at Walter like the room had stopped making sense.
“I think you have the wrong man.”
I said, “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
She looked at Walter and whispered, “This can’t be. You died.”
Walter blinked. “I’m sorry?”
Megan started crying. “You died. They told me you died 30 years ago.”
I looked at Walter. Then at Megan. Then back again.
Walter stared at her, lost.
Walter said softly, “I think you have the wrong man.”
Megan shook her head. “No. That scar. The way you reached for the chair. You made pasta with basil. Too much basil. You used to say I stirred too fast.”
Walter stared at her, lost.
I said, “Megan. Who is he?”
She let out one broken breath. “He took care of me when I was little.”
Walter sat down slowly.
That shut me up.
She wiped her face and tried again.
“When I was nine, my mom got really sick. We had no close family nearby. A social worker checked in, but nobody looked too closely. You lived next door. You started checking on me, making breakfast, and walking me to school. Then I was at your house more than mine.”
Walter sat down slowly.
Megan kept talking.
Nobody said anything after that.
