“You’re right.”
He took out his phone.
His first attempt at entering the number failed because his hands were shaking. He deleted it and started again.
The call rang once.
Then twice.
On the third ring, a woman answered.
“Hello?”
Daniel stood so quickly that the chair scraped the floor.
He turned away from the table, then seemed to realize that turning his back would not make the conversation private.
“Elena?”
Silence followed.
Not an empty silence.
A silence crowded with years.
“Daniel,” the woman said.
Evelyn covered her mouth.
Silas sat absolutely still.
Daniel gripped the phone.
“I received your letter.”
“I know this is sudden.”
“You’ve been writing to my mother for fourteen months.”
“Yes.”
“You came to the house.”
“Yes.”
“You spoke to Silas at the library.”
A pause.
“I did.”
Daniel looked at his son.
Silas was watching him with the careful attention he gave passing cars and unfamiliar adults.
“Why didn’t you tell him who you were?”
“Because I promised myself I wouldn’t take that choice from you.”
“You spoke to him anyway.”
“I helped him find a book.”
“You knew his name.”
“I heard the librarian use it.”
“You told him you hoped he would come back.”
Elena’s voice became quieter.
“I shouldn’t have said that.”
Daniel walked to the window.
Outside, the overgrown lilac branches moved in the late summer wind.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
“I tried to.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
Daniel looked at the letter.
“My father showed you a document.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t sign it.”
On the other end, Elena stopped breathing for a moment.
When she spoke again, every word came slowly.
“Daniel, I saw your signature.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
“It looked like yours.”
“It wasn’t mine.”
No one moved.
