“He wrote that song before he left,” she continued. “He played the first half for me in the music room. Then he said he wouldn’t finish it until he knew how our story ended.”
Owen’s eyes widened.
“That’s actually kind of romantic.”
Mrs. Parker gave him another look.
“I’m twelve, not six.”
“I’ve noticed.”
I asked, “What happened?”
She sighed.
“Something very ordinary.”
The answer surprised me.
“There wasn’t a fight. Nobody betrayed anyone. Nobody behaved terribly. Thomas left. I stayed.”
She paused.
“We wrote letters.”
Her eyes moved toward the envelope.
“For almost a year.”
Then one day, she said, the letters stopped.
Thomas never explained why.
Mrs. Parker had written twice more.
No reply.
Later, she heard through a mutual friend that he had married.
“So you never spoke again?” Owen asked.
“Once.”
“When?”
“Many years later. Briefly.”
“What did he say?”
Mrs. Parker stood and carried her cup to the sink.
