“For an ice cream truck?”
“For mine.”
I stared at him.
He would have been in his 20s back then.
I tried to imagine him without the gray hair and glasses.
Still nothing.
“You drove an ice cream truck back then?”
“For a few summers.”
“And you remember one kid from more than 30 years ago?”
His expression changed.
“You weren’t just one kid.”
Ellie moved closer to me.
“What does that mean?”
He looked at her, then back at me.
“I knew your family.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Instead of answering, he reached beneath the counter.
My whole body tensed.
Then he brought out an old photograph.
The edges were worn, and a crease ran through the middle.
“I didn’t know whether I should show you this.”
“Why do you have a photograph of my family?”
He swallowed.
“Because it belongs to me.”
I reached for it.
After a hesitation, he handed it over.
