Dale laughed.
“Who’s gonna believe a drifter and an old lady?”
“The post office records,” I said.
I didn’t even know if they existed.
But Dale flinched.
And a flinch told me everything.
“They’re gone,” Dale said too fast. “Dad cleaned—”
He stopped himself.
Too late.
“Dad cleaned what, Dale?” I said.
Silence.
“Finish the sentence,” I said. “Dad cleaned what?”
Headlights again.
A second car in the driveway.
Walt and I both turned.
Dale smiled.
“That’ll be him,” he said.
“He wanted to do this part himself.”
The front door opened.
I’d thrown the bolt.
But Earl had a key.
Of course Earl had a key.
He’d had a key to my whole life.
My brother stepped into my hall.
Seventy-eight years old.
Silver-haired.
Camel coat.
The soft, warm smile I’d trusted my whole life.
“Nora,” he said, like we were meeting for Sunday dinner.
Then he saw Walt.
And the smile died.
For one second Earl looked like he’d seen a gh.ost.
Because he had.
“Hello, Earl,” Walt said.
“You’ve aged.”
Earl recovered fast.
He always did.
“Walt Mercer,” he said. “Well. I’ll be damned.”
“You already are,” Walt said.
Earl turned to me.
Spread his hands.
“Nora, honey, I can explain all of this.”
“Explain the gra.ve,” I said. “The one with my name on it. Explain that first.”
Earl’s hands lowered.
“You told a man his wife was de.ad,” I said. “You walked him to a stone.”
“You told me he was gone when he was in a prison camp. You paid Russ Dolan to say it to my face at my own table.”
Each word came out harder.
Earl’s eyes went to the shoebox.
“Where did you get those,” he said.
Not a question.
“Russ Dolan,” Walt said. “On his way out. He didn’t want to carry you into the next life.”
Earl closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
When he opened them, something had changed in his face.
The warmth was gone.
The real Earl stood in my hall now.
The one who’d been there the whole time, under the smile.
