“Grandpa?”
“Yes?”
“Are you happy?”
The answer should have been easy.
Instead, I looked around the empty dining room.
“I think I’m learning how to be.”
After we hung up, I continued searching.
At ten thirty, I found Dorothy’s blue notebook.
She carried one like it everywhere. Grocery lists appeared beside doctor appointments, recipes beside reminders to call the plumber.
Halfway through, the entries changed.
September 18.
Called county investigator. Asked again about dental report.
September 21.
Spoke with woman named Carol at St. Anne Rehabilitation.
September 24.
She says patient arrived from River County hospital. Approximate age matches.
September 26.
Calvin says I am hurting myself chasing possibilities.
I stopped.
Calvin knew Dorothy had been searching.
I called him.
He answered on the second ring.
“You knew.”
Silence.
Then, “About the notebook?”
“About Dorothy.”
“I knew she questioned the identification.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I thought grief was making her search for something that wasn’t there.”
