Michael had worked for a shipping company at the time.
He traveled often.
I stayed home with our daughter, Rebecca, who had just started school.
He called every night.
At least, I thought he did.
David continued.
“Ruth was here visiting her sister. She and Michael met in this restaurant.”
I looked around the courtyard.
The old stone walls.
The flowering vines.
The harbor visible through an archway.
This was where my husband had met another man’s wife.
“They saw each other again?” I asked.
“Several times.”
“Here?”
“Here. London. Paris. Once in Boston.”
Boston.
I remembered Boston.
Michael came home with a red scarf and said he bought it during a layover because he missed me.
I wore it for 20 years.
I pressed both hands against my mouth.
David looked away.
“Did they love each other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t lie to me again.”
His eyes returned to mine.
