PART 1: The Promise
Three days before my wife died, she asked me to find the woman I had spent forty years trying to forget.
Then she tightened her fingers around mine and whispered, “Please forgive me in advance.”
I thought the illness had confused her. I wanted to believe that so badly that, for a little while, I did.
The hospital room smelled of disinfectant and the lavender lotion Carol liked me to rub into her hands. She had always complained about dry skin in winter. Even now, with everything else slipping beyond my control, I could still do that small thing for her.
I worked the lotion gently over her knuckles, careful around the tape holding her IV in place.
“Remember when I painted the porch swing?” I asked.
Her eyes opened. “That terrible green.”
“You picked it.”
“I picked sage. You came home with something closer to
