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His daughter. She’d died in a fire decades ago. A part of both him and Pauline perished that night, too. She’d been their only child and there’d been no more after that. Not a day passed that he did not think of her.
true
He found the southern face of the treed knoll and his daughter’s plot beneath the old oak. The turf was cut low and tight, in good repair. The stone lay flush with the earth, noting her full name, date of birth, date of death, and a simple statement. our beloved daughter. He stood, hands in his pockets, rain flattening his hair, and begged her one more time for forgiveness. So much time had passed. But the pain seemed as fresh as yesterday. A familiar emptiness gnawed at his stomach. He closed his eyes and tried not to cry. His whole life had been spent projecting an image of toughness. Never
...more
yes
Where things led from there was anybody’s guess. But that was the great thing about an adventure. Whether it be in life or love. You simply never knew how it would end.
adventure (in the next world) perhaps
the dazed incomprehension that someone newly affected by grief would exhibit.
grief
His daughter would have been a grown woman now, probably married with children of her own. Music had been her love, and he could still hear her, as a child, playing the flute.
same here
Why had this happened?
why
skilled in deciphering the silences between words, the thoughts obtuse speech many times disguised.
reading between the lines
He recalled something Ian Fleming wrote in one of the Bond novels. Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action.
the name's Bond, James Bond
