“Who are you?”
He looked at Ellie.
“Was she wearing a red coat?”
Sarah felt all the blood leave her face.
Ellie’s current jacket was red.
But that was not what Ray meant.
Three years earlier, on the day of the accident, Ellie had worn a little red wool coat with wooden buttons.
Sarah still kept it folded inside a sealed plastic box on the top shelf of her bedroom closet.
“How do you know that?”
Ray stood unsteadily.
“I need to show you something.”
He turned toward his motorcycle.
Sarah immediately stepped in front of Ellie.
“Show me from there.”
Ray stopped.
He nodded.
“Fair.”
He opened a leather saddlebag.
Searched.
Then reached into his back pocket.
He pulled out an old brown wallet.
The leather had gone almost black at the edges.
His hands shook as he opened it.
Inside was a square piece of paper folded several times.
“I’ve carried this for three years.”
He looked at Ellie.
“I kept thinking someday I might find you.”
Ellie stepped slightly away from Sarah.
Ray held the paper out.
Sarah nearly stopped her.
Then something told her not to.
Ellie accepted it.
Unfolded it.
A child’s drawing covered the front.
House.
Dog.
Three stick figures.
A strange bird with enormous wings.
Sarah immediately recognized the paper.
Not the drawing.
The logo.
THE KETTLE.
Her knees weakened.
The Kettle was a diner eight miles west of Millbrook.
Danny loved it.
The day he died, he and Ellie had gone there for pancakes.
Their father-daughter afternoon.
Sarah had been working a hospital shift.
Danny called her from the parking lot.
He laughed because Ellie had syrup in her hair.
Sarah remembered saying:
“Bring me apple pie or don’t come home.”
Danny said:
“I love when you threaten me with reasonable consequences.”
Those were the last words her husband ever said to her.
Now Sarah looked at the old placemat in Ellie’s hands.
Across the top, written in uneven letters:
RAY
She stared.
“Where did you get that?”
Ray answered quietly.
“She gave it to me.”
“No.”
Sarah shook her head.
“No, she didn't.”
“She did.”
“I would remember you.”
“You weren't there.”
Sarah looked at him.
Ray pointed toward the picnic tables.
“Ma’am.”
“My name is Sarah.”
His eyes changed.
Of course.
He already knew.
That frightened her.
“Sarah.”
He nodded.
“I think you need to sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
His voice was gentle.
“You're not going to be.”
Sarah almost argued.
Then Ellie took her hand.
That ended it.
They walked toward the picnic table.
Ray sat across from them.
Ellie remained pressed against Sarah’s side.
The old placemat lay between them.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Ray put both hands flat on the table.
“I met your husband that afternoon.”
Sarah felt her throat close.
“At The Kettle?”
“Yes.”
“They were in the booth beside me.”
“Ellie had pancakes.”
“Blueberry?”
Sarah whispered.
Ray nodded.