He sat on the edge of the bed. He’d made an effort to look his best. He smelled of cologne. But he was like a shell of his old self. I stood near a large potted plant. Neither of us spoke for the longest time. My hands, my knees, were shaking!

Finally, me: “What are you doing here, sir?”

“I’ve been sitting here asking myself the same question.” Then he scrunched his face. Then he sighed as if he’d been shot. Then he looked down at his feet and said, “You must be disappointed in me.”

I was. I’d had such high hopes for Mr. Welch. But to tell him that would only have hurt him. And I was in the presence of a man who was already in far too much pain. That was when I thought, Remind him, so I said, “Here’s what you taught me: History is full of people doing the unthinkable. And each of us is capable of doing anything.”

Mr. Welch looked up, staring vaguely in my direction. I seemed to be having an impact. Keep going, Bea, I told myself. “And there is always a place for mercy.”

“I taught you that?”

“Actually, no, but it’s something I believe.” I blurted out, “I won’t tell anybody about what you’ve done here.”

“Bea, thank you. It would be awful if it came out.”

“Yes, I would think.”

“Besides, nothing happened.”

“Mr. Welch, I’m sorry, but that would be an incorrect statement, wouldn’t it? That nothing happened?”

Who was the teacher now? He’d forgotten his own core belief. History—even if it is forgotten—is always happening.

Mr. Welch nodded. “You’re right,” he said slowly. It was as if he’d ingested mass quantities of sedatives and they’d just kicked in.

It was time to explain why I was there. “Sir, last night when I called, I was stunned. You see, I recognized your voice.” It’s only my favorite voice ever. “And I was so caught off guard that I said something untrue.”

“Oh?” he said.

“I, uhm, lied.”

“Go on.”

“Mrs. Ashworth wasn’t on her way.”

He looked puzzled.

I explained about Philip and Anna’s big fight, the begging and the tears, the makeup sex, and mostly, how I’d failed to deliver the real message.

“And it was?”

I handed him the piece of paper Mrs. Ashworth had given me. It was folded in half.

But he didn’t move. He just sat there holding the piece of paper. I think he wanted to read her note in private.

I excused myself to use the bathroom. Before I closed the door, I caught his reflection in the mirror. How do I give this man comfort? I wondered, just as he opened the note.

ANNA BRODY

Go home.

TIM

TIM