“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“He told us not to worry.”
“Yes.”
“And then we lost time.”
Andrew swallowed.
“Yes.”
I gripped the edge of the hallway table.
“How much?”
“I can’t give you a clean number. Her condition was complicated. Nobody can honestly say what every later year would have looked like if she’d been diagnosed sooner.”
At least he didn’t lie to me.
“But your father thought he’d made a mistake.”
Andrew nodded.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because he talked about it for years.”
I stepped away from him.
All those nights beside Amanda’s bed suddenly had a new door opening behind them.
Not an answer.
A possibility.
“Did Amanda know his name?”
“She was seven.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No. She doesn’t remember him.”
“But you remembered for her.”
Andrew didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t you tell us when you recognized the chart?”
