Arthur greeted me with pink roses.
He smiled, then studied my face long enough to make me touch my upper lip.
“Come in, Holly.”
He led me into the living room.
A woman carrying two crystal glasses entered from the hallway.
“This is Helen,” Arthur said.
He studied my face.
Helen looked at me. One glass slipped from her hand, then the other.
They shattered against the floor.
“Oh, goodness!” I exclaimed.
Helen remained still, staring at my face.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
Helen looked at me.
“Holly?” she gasped.
I blinked.
“Yes?”
Arthur stepped between us.
“Helen, please take care of the glasses.”
She looked at him.
“Arthur…”
Arthur stepped between us.
“Now, please.”
His voice was firmer than I’d heard before.
Helen bent to collect the pieces.
I crouched to help.
“No, ma’am,” she said quickly. “Please don’t.”
His voice was firmer.
Arthur guided me toward the dining room.
“She’s been having a difficult week.”
I glanced back.
Helen was still watching me.
And I had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d recognized someone she wasn’t supposed to see.
Helen was still watching me.
***
Over roast chicken and potatoes, Arthur began asking about my childhood.
Then my parents.
Then whether I’d ever had a sister.
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
Arthur began asking about my childhood.
I set down my water glass.
“You’re asking a lot of family questions tonight.”
He smiled.
“Getting to know you, darling.”
I tried to relax.
“You’re asking a lot of family questions tonight.”
Then he asked something that made my fork stop halfway to my mouth.
“Did your mother live in Chicago in 1965?”
I stared at him.
“How do you know that?”
Arthur reached for his wine.
“Lucky guess.”
“How do you know that?”
“Arthur, that’s a very specific guess.”
He gave a small laugh.
“You mentioned moving around.”
“I never mentioned Chicago.”
His smile faded.
“That’s a very specific guess.”
For the first time, I wondered whether our meeting had been an accident.
***
Before I could ask another question, his phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Excuse me. I need to take this.”
His phone rang.
He left the dining room.
I sat alone with my half-finished dinner.
A door closed somewhere down the hallway.
Then came hurried footsteps.
He left the dining room.
Helen appeared.
She wasn’t carrying anything.
“Ma’am, you need to leave,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“What?”
Helen appeared.
“Please. Before he comes back.”
“What’s going on?”
She glanced over her shoulder.
“There’s something you should know.”
“Please. Before he comes back.”
Helen took my hand and led me toward the hallway.
“Arthur has been looking for you for years,” she said.
“Why?”
Before she could answer, a voice came from behind us.
“Arthur has been looking for you for years.”
“Helen. What are you doing?”
Arthur stood at the end of the hallway.
Helen didn’t release my hand.
“I’m telling her,” she said.
“Helen. What are you doing?”
“Not like this.”
“Then how? You’ve had three dates and an entire dinner.”
I looked from one to the other.
“Someone had better explain what’s happening.”
Arthur approached slowly.
“Not like this.”
“Holly, please don’t be frightened.”
“That’s not a reassuring thing to say.”
He stopped.
Helen turned toward me.
“There’s something in his study you need to see.”
“Holly, please don’t be frightened.”
“Holly…” Arthur panicked.
“No,” I said. “Show me.”
***
His study smelled of old paper and furniture polish.
On the desk sat a small cardboard box.
“Show me.”
Arthur looked at it as though he’d hoped I’d never notice it.
Helen opened the lid.
Inside were yellowed envelopes, newspaper clippings, and photographs.
She lifted one photograph from a protective sleeve.
Helen opened the lid.
Then she handed it to me.
The photograph showed a teenage girl beneath a bright salon lamp, her hair pinned back and her hands clasped in her lap.
I knew her before I recognized the dress.
The photograph showed a teenage girl.
It was me at 17 in Chicago.
I sat down and ran my thumb along the photograph’s worn edge.
