The elderly woman suddenly began crying.
“Richard, don’t frighten her. We already lost her once.”
I stared at them both.
“Lost who?”
Richard slowly approached the wheelchair.
“This is my wife, Margaret. She’s ninety-two years old.”
“But your lawyer said you were a widower!”
“I know. And I’m deeply ashamed of that lie. I was afraid you wouldn’t come if you knew the truth.”
He knelt beside his wife.
“Margaret has a serious memory condition. Most days, she barely remembers what happened yesterday. But there’s one night she has never forgotten.”
He looked at the clock.
“October 15, 1981.”
My breath caught.
That was the date written on the photograph.
Richard continued.
“Forty-five years ago, our daughter Catherine took her four-year-old daughter to visit relatives. She was wearing a pink blouse, a black skirt, and red high heels.”
He paused.
“On the way home, there was a terrible highway accident.”
