Then passed him the microphone.
The entire field went quiet.
Even the school band stopped.
Arthur reached inside his suit jacket.
And pulled out an old yellow envelope.
Soft at the edges.
Folded so many times it looked fragile.
Then he looked into the bleachers.
Straight at me.
“This girl’s mother asked me to read something today.”
My heart stopped.
Arthur continued:
“She wanted everyone to hear it.”
Then:
“Especially her father.”
For a second, I couldn’t understand the words.
Sophie’s mother had been dead eighteen years.
How could she have asked Arthur Hale for anything?
THEN I REALLY LOOKED AT HIM
For perhaps the first time in my life—
I studied his face.
The angle of his shoulders.
The way he tilted his head.
A small scar along his chin.
His mouth.
Something about that mouth bothered me.
It looked familiar.
Then a memory returned.
An old photograph of my mother.
