The same narrow jaw. The same deep-set eyes. Older now, lined, but unmistakable. Even underneath all those scratches, I knew.
“You were here last night,” I said slowly. “You’re the woman who canceled on my dad.”
She nodded once.
“You’re her.” I pointed at the ruined face in the photograph. “You’re the one he was supposed to see again.”
“I was the woman he met,” she said. “It wasn’t a date.”
The waitress quietly stepped away and left us alone.
“Then who are you?” I asked.
The woman glanced at the photo. “My name is Helen.”
“How do you know my father?”
“Longer than you’ve been alive.”
“So you were together. At some point. The two of you.”
Her face barely moved. “No. We never were.”
“Don’t lie to me. Please. I’ve had eighteen months of people not telling me things.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
