« He thought you wouldn’t, » Thomas said. « That’s why he wrote this. »
He slid the envelope closer.
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Noah opened it with shaking hands, unfolded the letter, and began to read aloud.
« Dear Noah, » he read. « You probably don’t remember me. That’s all right. I remember you. »
Years ago, Harold had slipped on the curb and fallen.
He swallowed and kept going.
The letter said that years ago, outside a small grocery store, Harold had slipped on the curb and fallen, dropping his bag.
He hadn’t been seriously hurt, but he couldn’t get up right away.
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People saw him. They walked around. They glanced over and then pretended they hadn’t.
Then one person stopped: Noah.
Later, Harold realized why Noah looked familiar.
He picked up the groceries, asked if Harold was okay, and waited until he was steady before letting him go.
He didn’t rush, didn’t make a joke, didn’t act uncomfortable.
