Eli did not defend himself.
That mattered.
“I have no excuse worth twenty-seven years.”
“I was afraid.”
“Then I got used to being afraid.”
Noah looked at Anna.
She reached for the phone.
“Eli?”
The man on the other end stopped breathing.
“Anna?”
“Yes.”
His voice broke.
“I have wanted to say your name for a very long time.”
“Then say it now.”
“Anna.”
She closed her eyes.
“Were you with my father when he died?”
“Yes.”
“Was he alone?”
“No.”
“Was he scared?”
Eli took a long breath.
“He was worried.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Anna pressed her fingers to her lips.
“He kept saying he had promised to take you fishing.”
A laugh escaped her.
“He hated fishing.”
“He told me.”
“He said you loved it and he hated worms.”
“That sounds like him?”
Anna nodded even though Eli could not see her.
“Yes.”
“His fever got worse.”
“He knew what was happening.”
“He asked me to remember three things.”
“What?”
“That he loved Ruth.”
“That he loved you.”
“And that he had come home.”
Anna’s tears fell.
“Why did that matter so much to him?”
“Because he said one day you might hear a story that made you think he didn’t.”
Anna bowed her head.
“He knew.”
“I think he knew people simplify things when they’re hurting.”
Eli paused.
“He wanted you to know he saw you one last time.”
“He said you woke up and complained that his jacket smelled terrible.”
Anna laughed through her tears.
“Like rain.”
“Yes.”
Memory returned then.
Not as a photograph.
As warmth.
Her father lifting her.
Rain tapping against the window.
Her cheek against his chest.
His tired laugh.
Her own sleepy voice asking whether he was staying home tomorrow.
And an answer.
I’m coming back, peanut.
Anna whispered, “I remember.”
Eli heard her.
“What?”
“I remember him.”
For twenty-seven years, she had believed her final memory of Thomas was imaginary.
Now it belonged to her again.