shift.
“How?”
He sat slowly.
“You knew my husband?”
“I was 24. Robert would’ve been 22 or 23. He came to Australia for almost a year.”
I knew my husband had traveled before we met. I knew he’d gone to Australia. But he’d rarely talked about it.
Arthur continued.
“We initially worked together for a few months at a hotel outside Melbourne. Terrible place. Terrible pay.”
A small smile crossed his face.
He’d rarely talked about it.
“Robert was worse at carrying luggage than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
That sounded exactly like him.
I finally sat.
Arthur told me they became friends quickly.
They traveled together on weekends, listened to records, played cards, and worked bad jobs.
That sounded exactly like him.
Robert painted whenever he could afford the supplies.
“That cottage,” Arthur said, pointing toward the fireplace, “was based on a place we stayed near a lake. He painted
