I’m right.”
She opened the envelope.
At twenty-two, she had predicted I would design a city that worked better. She had written that I would remember who could not take stairs, who needed to leave early, who should not be made to feel troublesome for having practical needs. At the bottom, underlined twice, she had added that I would live within twenty minutes of her.
“Eighteen,” I said.
She laughed, but her eyes shone.
My prediction for her began with a museum and ended with a sentence I had forgotten
