Chapter 44
He nearly spoke, paused, sipped tea. Crumbled a bit of Colby’s colorful cake with a fork.
Finally: “He’d’ve liked you. Always on about a good story, and stubborn as a goat, trying to get me to read this or go see that…mad for history, he was. All about people, he’d say. Sometimes even about people like us. Like what we were, to each other.”
“I’m so sorry,” Colby said. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“You did and you didn’t, I’m thinking.” George waved a hand. “You have that, too. That knowing people, the way he did. You guessed, did you? ‘Twas his book, only he never got to the writing of it. So I did, after.”
“I hadn’t guessed,” Colby admitted. “Not really. Only…the way you said it. Our book. Not yours, or not only yours. And that initial. What was his name?”