FORGOTTEN IDENTITY
It was the only form of honesty that was complete rather than partial, the only version of the practice that could be called, without qualification, a practice.
The kitchen was quiet for a moment after I'd finished reading.
"That's exactly right," Kade said.
"It's the right ending," Killian confirmed.
"It's the only honest ending," I said. "Given who wrote it and from where."
Hope came home from school at four, and read the last paragraph standing in the kitchen doorway still in her coat, and set it down with the expression she had when something had done exactly what it was supposed to do.
"Good," she said, with the flat, satisfied certainty of someone whose assessment was final.
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