“Tell me the truth,” I said.
David glanced at Clara.
She shook her head.
“No more help from me, Dad. You tell her.”
He looked older than he had that morning.
Not 70, ancient.
“My wife knew your husband.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Ruth knew Michael.”
The sound of my husband’s name in David’s voice made my stomach drop.
Michael had been dead for four years.
We had been married for 39.
He had never mentioned anyone named Ruth.
“How?”
David looked toward an empty table in the corner of the courtyard.
“They met here.”
“In Malta?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Thirty-two years ago.”
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Michael never came to Malta.”
David said nothing.
That silence again.
I thought about all the stories Michael had told me over the years.
