“And?”
“And he left.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to hear why from him.”
Richard stepped backward.
“You already have your answer.”
“No. I have yours.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You should go home.”
I turned toward my car.
For one second, I almost did.
Then the garden triggered another memory.
My mother crying.
Richard shouting from the doorway.
Don’t come back.
Then another image.
