He was younger than I expected.
Mid-forties, broad-shouldered, with the kind of face that showed everything.
He came through the door, looked at me, and then looked at his wife.
“You alright?” he said.
“I’m alright,” Claire said.
“Come sit down.”
Tom shook my hand before he sat.
His grip was firm and he looked me directly in the eye, the way men do when they’re deciding something about you quickly.
“She told me on the phone,” he said.
“Most of it.”
“I know this is strange,” I said.
“Strange isn’t the word I’d use,” he said.
Not unkindly.
“But I appreciate you coming.”
Anna set fresh cups on the table and we sat, the four of us, in the kind of silence that has too much in it to break easily.
