I thought of the creak of his chair and the way he’d pat my hand when the news got too grim. I almost reached for his fingers now, just out of habit.
**
As people began to leave, Ruth touched my arm. “Mama, do you want to go outside for air?”
That’s when I noticed a stranger lingering near Walter’s photo. He stood still, hands knotted around something I could not see.
Ruth frowned. “Who’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I said. But the man’s old army jacket caught my eye. “But I think he’s here for your father.”
He started walking toward us, and the room suddenly felt smaller.
“Edith?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “That’s me. Did you know my Walter?”
He managed a faint smile. “My name’s Paul. I served with Walter a long time ago.”
I studied him. “He never mentioned a Paul.”
He gave a soft, knowing shrug. “He wouldn’t have.”
