I exhaled quietly. “That sounds like something she’d say.”
“She wanted to introduce us,” Claire continued. “That was in her last letter. She said she was ready. She didn’t want to keep things separate anymore.”
“But it didn’t happen,” I said.
Claire shook her head. “Then nothing came. No letters, no packages. I thought something was wrong, but I didn’t know where to look.”
“What changed?” I asked.
“I used to work at a library,” she explained. “A few months ago, a colleague who knew my background found an old obituary in a newspaper archive. I wasn’t even searching for Eleanor. My friend shared it. Her name. The date.”
I closed my eyes briefly. “That’s how you found out.”
“Yes.”
“And the bench?”
“I was rereading her letters. She wrote that this was the most important place in her life. She said if I ever wanted to feel close to her, I should come here.”
I looked around at the willow branches swaying in the wind.
“So I came on her birthday,” Claire said. “I brought the things she gave me. The dress I wore that day—she gave it to me years ago. I saved it.”
