The moment I mentioned Anna, Diane fell silent.
“I have nothing to say to you about that.”
Then she hung up.
A week later, she called me back.
“Anna’s sister married a man from Pittsburgh.”
“You know her name?”
“I remember the married name.”
“Give it to me.”
Three phone calls later, a woman answered.
“Hello?”
I closed my eyes.
Even after four decades, I recognized that voice.
“Anna? This is Walter.”
For several seconds, all I heard was breathing.
Then she whispered, “Walter. My God.”
“Anna, could I come see you?”
“After forty years?”
“I know how that sounds. But Carol asked me to find you before she died. I need to understand why.”
Silence.
“When?”
“Whenever you’re comfortable.”
Another pause.
“Saturday.”
—
Saturday morning, I drove four hours to Pittsburgh with Carol’s ring in my pocket.
I sat outside Anna’s house for nearly an hour before finally forcing myself to knock.
Then the door opened.
