you know what Nile did, the summer he died? He came out here every weekend, by himself, and he repainted this whole porch. Every board. He was sixty-one. His back was terrible. He said he wanted it perfect for when Cullen brought his own family here someday.”
She was crying now. Quietly.
“That’s who you put in the drawer,” I said.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.”
She wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“I think I married someone I don’t know,” she said.
“No,” I
