“That’s what I figured. The land of peace and plenty up north wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” Walt took a sip of lukewarm coffee. “Did she ever try to contact you?”

“Not that I know of.”

Walt’s eyes glinted in the dim light. “You think maybe she did, and Peggy put the quietus on it?”

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. Viola had too much pride for that.”

“Pride don’t last long when you’re tryin’ to survive.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tom said. “I sent her money.”

“How’d you know where to send it?”

“Viola sent a few letters to the office. Not to me, but to the girls, you know. I sent money to the address those letters came from. Enough to buy staples and pay the rent. She cashed the checks. It was her signature on the back. I knew her handwriting, but I checked it against one of the letters to be sure.”

“How long did you do this?”

Tom looked down at his coffee. “Thirty-seven years.”

Walt reached out and patted his shoulder. “Partner, you haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Does anybody?”

Walt smiled sadly. “Not in my experience. Did you ever tell Peggy about all this?”

“No.”

“She never found out you were sending the money?”

“I don’t think so. She handled our money, but I always kept one account for myself that nobody ever saw but me.”

“Jesus, buddy. This reminds me of some of the World War Two vets who looked after women they met while they were overseas.”

“Yeah. Gregory Peck played in a movie about that. The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit.”

“I saw that!” Walt smiled. “Damn, we’re old, ain’t we?”

Tom took the whiskey bottle and looked at it, contemplating another swig. “Walt … when I first saw Viola after all those years, my heart seized in my chest. Literally. I remembered her as a perfect beauty of twenty-eight, and what I saw was an old woman a few steps from death’s door.” He took a sip of whiskey, but now it tasted like acid. “It wasn’t just the cancer that had done it. It was time and gin and cigarettes and God knows what else.” A lump rose into Tom’s throat, and he heard his voice break. “She didn’t have any teeth, Walt. Just dentures, and bad ones at that. I felt sick for two days afterward, every time I thought of her.”

“But you treated her.”

Tom nodded. “Hardest thing I ever did.”

Walt took the bottle and slipped it back into the drawer above the microwave. “You helped her, buddy.”

“I wanted to. I wanted to save her. But there wasn’t any way to—not by that time.”

Walt squeezed his shoulder. “I know. You know I know.”

Tom felt himself shivering. “That’s the only reason I can tell you.”