Evelyn called that evening. Her voice was hopeful, trembling. “Did you find anything? When will you go?” Margaret told her about the Canadian registration. Silence hung for a beat, then Evelyn whispered, “So he really did go. He wasn’t taken from us. He chose it.” Relief, fragile but real, filled her words.
Margaret promised to keep searching. She didn’t know why she felt so responsible, but she did. Perhaps it was the look in Evelyn’s eyes, the relief of a sister who had carried grief too long. Or perhaps it was that photograph of David leaning proudly against the car.