“That was mean.”
“Yes.”
Lucy considered that.
Then she asked, “Do you always wear silver dresses?”
Vanessa laughed through tears.
“No.”
That was the beginning.
The visit to Eleanor happened a week later.
Henry barely slept the night before.
The rehabilitation residence was not a prison or a hidden mansion. It was a quiet medical community with gardens, therapy rooms, and residents whose lives had changed in ways their families were still learning to understand.
Eleanor sat near a window working on a wooden puzzle when Henry entered.
She looked older.
Of course she did.
Her hair was shorter. A faint scar ran from her temple into her hairline.
Henry stopped five feet away.
“Eleanor?”
She looked up.
For several seconds, there was no recognition.
Then her eyes moved to his cane.
Her face changed.
“Dad?”
The word was hesitant.
Henry sat down before his knees failed.
“Yes.”
Eleanor touched her mouth.
“They said you didn’t come.”
He looked toward the wall because if he looked at her, he would not be able to speak.
“I didn’t know where you were.”
She began crying.
So did he.
