Jake wiped his face.
“He kept a photograph of the two of you. He told me about the street, the bicycle, the pond, and the promise.”
The room blurred.
“Where is he?”
Jake looked down.
That was when I knew.
“No.”
“Leo got sick five years ago.”
“No.”
“It was a rare form of cancer. He fought it for almost two years.”
I covered my mouth.
“He died three years ago.”
My knees weakened.
Jake reached for me.
I stepped back.
“Don’t touch me.”
He froze.
The chapel had become so quiet that I could hear people breathing.
Jake held the photograph against his chest.
“Before he died, he asked me to find you.”
“Why?”
“He wanted you to know he had not forgotten his promise. He said he was sorry he had never found you sooner.”
I was crying now.
“He asked you to tell me that?”
“Yes.”
“And you came here pretending to be him?”
His face twisted.
“I did not plan to.”
“Then explain it.”
He looked toward the floor.
“I found your bakery online. I came to tell you the truth.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I watched you for three days first.”
My anger flared through the grief.
“You watched me?”
“I was afraid. I did not know how to walk into your life and tell you Leo was dead. I sat across the street. I saw you laughing with customers. I saw you carrying boxes out to an old woman’s car. I saw you close the shop alone every night.”
“That does not explain the lie.”
“No.”
His voice cracked.
“The day I finally went inside, you looked at me and said Leo’s name before I could speak.”
I remembered.
The rain.
His soaked coat.
The shock on his face.
“I should have corrected you,” he said. “I meant to. But you ran into my arms and started crying.”
“So you let me believe it.”
“For a few seconds.”
“Two years is not a few seconds.”
“I know.”
People in the pews were crying openly now.
I did not care.
“Every story you told me.”
“Some were Leo’s stories.”
