at the bookstore…”
“I didn’t know it was you.”
That surprised me.
My married name wasn’t unusual, and Arthur hadn’t seen recent photos of me.
Only after our second afternoon together, when I mentioned Robert and where we’d lived, did Arthur begin to wonder.
“Why didn’t you tell me immediately?”
“Because imagine you’re traveling alone in Australia and some strange man says, ‘By the way, I knew your dead husband and have been storing his letters for 12 years.'”
Arthur hadn’t seen recent photos of me.
I smiled.
“That would’ve been memorable.”
“I thought coffee was safer.”
“So you invited me here on purpose?”
“Yes.”
“Because of the painting.”
“Partly.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That would’ve been memorable.”
Arthur looked almost embarrassed.
“And partly because I wanted to see my best friend’s wife. The one he loved with all his heart.”
That changed the air between us.
I looked down
