Baffled, I ask, “Why?” He doesn’t miss a beat. “Why what?” “Why let me go on and on every day about her life? Why sit there through it all? You probably know more than I do—why listen to me?” He tips his glass back, chugging the rest of his water. Shrugs off his jacket and throws it on the coat rack in the entryway and when he returns, his eyes are solid. “Because you have things to say. And people should listen.”
