“I always wondered about you,” Garrett said one afternoon while stirring sugar into his coffee.
“You had a funny way of showing it with five decades of silence,” I rebuffed.
“Life got in the way.”
“Life always does.”
—
Six months later, Garrett stood on my front porch and partly fulfilled his old promise by asking me to marry him. He did not have the ring yet, but he said he was working on it.
I said, “Yes!” Not because of his mansion or the wealth his children would eventually whisper about. I agreed because I remembered the boy who had once walked me home through the rain.
Our engagement dinner took place at Garrett’s mansion, where I met his children in person for the first time.
Margaret embraced me with her arms but not her shoulders. Daniel shook my hand with the formality of someone greeting a contractor.
