WHICH MAN STAYS?
“Let’s go home and you can tell me all about them.”
We turned to walk to where the driver Clara insisted on waited at the curb. Then a voice called out.
“Maya? Maya Surman? Is that you?”
The voice was familiar in a way that tugged at a much older, simpler part of my brain. I turned.
A man was walking toward me, a friendly, confused smile on his face. He was tall, with kind eyes and dark hair that had a few threads of gray. He wore a simple, well-fitted button-down and chinos. He looked… normal. Warm. Real.