that I don’t match her.”
Mike shut his eyes.
“She’s going to think I lied to her for eighteen years,” he said.
“You did,” I said gently.
That Sunday afternoon, we visited Eileen.
Mike, Luke, and I went together. She served iced tea and shortbread. Her little living room held a crucifix and photographs of five sons and eleven grandchildren on every available surface.
Mike explained everything.
He needed a long time. He stumbled over his words, hands trembling.
When he stopped, Eileen remained silent.
She lowered her iced tea.
