I laughed once, without humor.
“Daniel could be very dramatic when he wanted to be.”
“He wasn’t being dramatic.”
“Then tell me what he meant.”
Adrian rested both hands against the table.
“Daniel and I became friends.”
The simplicity of it hurt more than I expected.
“Friends.”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me.”
“He may have assumed you knew.”
“I knew the names of his friends.”
“I wasn’t part of his regular life.”
“Apparently you were important enough for a personal letter.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“I deserved that.”
“I’m not trying to punish you.”
“I know.”
I turned toward the window.
“I just hate discovering parts of him I never knew existed.”
“That doesn’t mean he was hiding them from you.”
“I know.”
But knowing something intellectually and feeling it were rarely the same thing.
Adrian opened the archive box.
Inside were folders, photographs, meeting agendas, and old project notes.
