I immediately understood what he had lied about.
He was much older than the man in his photographs.
Not a little older. He was elderly.
He had white hair and deep lines around his mouth.
He had thin shoulders and walked carefully, one hand brushing the wall.
He stopped when he saw me.
His face went completely still.
“Helen?”
I could not speak.
He looked like him.
Same eyes and mouth. Same little tilt of his head as in the pictures he sent.
But the photographs he had sent me had been of a man around my age.
Maybe late 60s at most.
The man standing in front of me was not.
“How old are you?” I asked.
Noah looked at the floor.
David whispered, “81. I’m sorry I didn’t present myself truthfully.”
I laughed once. I couldn’t help it.
“Eighty-one? You told me you were 68.”
“I was afraid of telling you the truth.”
