She took it. She didn’t open it. She held it in both hands and looked at him. “One more thing,” she said. “That night nine years ago—whatever it was that happened to you—were you frightened?” Owen was quiet for a long moment. “No,” he said at last. “That’s the part I’ve never been able to explain. I felt held. Like something was there with me.”
A bell rang from inside the venue—the signal for dinner seating. Helen stood, smoothed her dress, and looked at Owen for a moment without speaking. She had made a decision somewhere in the last hour without quite noticing the moment it happened. “Come inside,” she said. “There’s someone you need to meet properly.”