I never expected to see him again.
Two mornings later, still in slippers and yesterday’s sweatshirt, a sharp knock nearly made me drop my coffee.
A woman in a charcoal suit stood on my porch, dark hair in a tight bun.
“Are you the woman who helped an elderly man at the grocery store on Thursday?”
My stomach flipped. “Yes… is he all right?”
“My name is Yves,” she said softly. “He was my grandfather, Cornelius. He asked me to find you. He’s… not well. His final wish is to see you one more time.”
She’d tracked me down through store security footage and Yves the manager (who remembered me from helping his wife).
I threw on jeans and a coat, kissed Liesel and Indie goodbye, and told them I’d be back soon.
The drive was quiet.
Cornelius’s house smelled of cedar and old books. He lay in bed under a pale blanket, thinner than I remembered, but his eyes found me the moment I walked in.
