is made from ordinary afternoons.”
I remained quiet.
“You gave me twelve years of ordinary afternoons, Anthony.”
“You gave them to me too.”
He looked toward Helen’s photograph.
“I hope you know what they meant.”
“I do.”
When I stood to leave, he reached for my wrist.
His grip was surprisingly firm.
“You were a good neighbor,” he said.
The words sounded too serious, so I tried to lighten the moment.
“You’re only saying that because I found the peach preserves.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
J’ai posé ma main