I’d given her a business card.
Then she whispered, barely audible, “Why would you do this?”
I held her gaze calmly.
“If you can make it,” I said, “come to that address the following day at noon.”
Lydia watched my hand.
Lydia blinked. “What?”
“If you can’t make it,” I added, “call the number on the card.”
Lydia looked down at the card again as if it were written in another language.
“I… I don’t understand.”
“You don’t need to,” I said quietly. “Just show up.”
She looked up again, still stunned.
But I was already stepping away from the table.
