I wanted to believe him.
Forty years of marriage should buy a person some trust.
At least that’s what I told myself.
That evening, we had dinner in the hotel restaurant.
Robert acted completely normal.
He ordered wine.
He complained that the menu had changed.
He reminded me that we’d enjoyed the food on our honeymoon.
I laughed at his stories.
But the receptionist’s face stayed in my head.
At one point, while Robert was in the restroom, I asked our server, “How long has the woman at the front desk worked here?”
“Almost 25 years, I think.”
“That long?”
“Yeah. She’s basically part of the building.”
So she definitely didn’t remember us from 40 years ago.
The next morning, Robert said he wanted to walk into town and find the little bookstore we used to visit.
“I’ll come with you,” I said.
He hesitated.
“I was thinking I’d pick something out for you.”
