“Bellamy?” He repeated the name like it meant nothing to him. Pale as the cream-colored walls, he suddenly looked very old, very frail. He trembled all over and was suddenly sweating, the beads gathering on his wrinkled and scared forehead. “I'll be right,” he told her with a peal of forced humor. “We don't get many visitors here is all. I got confused, I guess. Wouldn't be the first time. That deja vu, when it hits, it can open a can of worms. You know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Rose replied, watching her mother carefully. “We just visited Greenwood Valley, the site of the old fair. Out of the blue, the memories started flooding in, stuff I'd totally forgotten.”

Hank looked alarmed. “You took them to Greenwood Valley?” he addressed Blythe. “Why?”

“It was on the way here. I thought it might help them remember you. Well, Rose, anyway. Andy was just a baby.”

“Oh.” He finished his water in a few generous gulps, then felt for the table edge with his pinky. The glass shook in his grip, tapped on the varnished surface as he placed it down.

“I can't say I totally remember you, just vague bits and pieces,” said Rose, “but Mom sure does. You two were a thing, right?” She might be about as subtle as a jack-hammer to the ear drum, but Rose was done pussy-footing around this mystery. Her mom had promised her answers here, and she wasn't going to wait for them to be eked out.

“So, you told them, Blythe?” He reached out feebly, and when she took his hand, he clasped it with both of his, held it like he'd never let it go. “It's no longer our secret?”

“I told them enough.” Blythe threw Andy a quick glance, like a mother would to a young child she’s willing to behave. She sat on the chair arm beside Hank, poised, not gushing. It told Rose everything she needed to know about this relationship. It had gone unfulfilled for so long, they'd both been reduced to guarding it and nothing more, in their own deeply private ways, so that it was now a cherished, ornamental thing between them. A love thwarted. Trapped in amber, unreachable. It would never again be realized the way it had been once, but it would be always be there.

“So, you've kept in touch all these years?” asked Andy. His sharp tone and childish frown told Rose that their mother’s talk with him about the situation didn’t go too well. Andy had always been selfish and jealous for their mother’s attention. Finding out she’d loved a stranger all these years must have killed him.

But Hank flashed a proud smile, oblivious to Andy’s demeanor.