Cole pulled a worn envelope from his vest.
“I’ve wanted answers from you for twenty years, Benjamin. I know what you did back then. You won’t fool anyone else.”
“I know.”
He placed it on the table.
Grandpa tore it open.
A photograph slipped out.
His face turned pale.
“No. Is that really you? This can’t be.”
“It is.”
“How dare you come here after all these years?”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“It is.”
“You told me my daughter was dead.”
I grabbed the envelope.
***
Inside was a photograph of my mother standing beside a much younger Cole.
She wore a yellow floral dress. I recognized the fabric because scraps of it had been sewn into the quilt across my lap.
On the back, she’d written:
“Cole and me. Five years later. Maybe this time we’ll be brave.”
