"Build them."
Ricky nodded toward Ethan.
"That's what he sees."
Then left.
Ethan sat with the strange weight of somebody seeing him so clearly and so far ahead of where he currently stood.
Four days later, Ethan saw Cole.
He was walking from the garage toward a supply store two blocks away.
Cole moved along the opposite sidewalk.
They noticed each other simultaneously.
Approximately 60 feet apart.
Enough distance to be safe.
Close enough to matter.
Cole stopped.
Ethan stopped.
Traffic passed between them.
Morning continued with complete indifference.
They looked across the street.
Two people sharing one piece of history.
Standing on opposite sides of where that history had taken them.
Cole studied Ethan.
Ethan saw the moment Cole registered something different.
Something that had not existed 3 months earlier.
Cole looked away first.
Continued walking.
Ethan watched until he disappeared around the corner.
Waited another moment.
Making sure the encounter had truly resolved into the clean ending it appeared to be.
It had.
Ethan went to the supply store.
Bought what he needed.
Returned to work.
He never saw Cole Ramirez again.
Marcus called one Tuesday evening in March.
"Robert wants to meet you."
Ethan's heart contracted immediately.
Then warmth spread through his chest.
He had thought about Robert Delaney repeatedly since the Thursday Marcus revealed their shared story.
Ethan thought of Robert the way people think about somebody existing at the foundation of something important.
You might not see the foundation.
But you understand the structure above it depends on what is underneath.
"When?"
"Next weekend."
Marcus continued.
"He lives in Colorado now."
Ethan smiled.
"He said he's waited 31 years and isn't waiting another week for a video call."
"Okay."
The smile remained.
"Tell me where."
"The diner off Route 17."
Of course.
Of course it would be the diner.
Robert Delaney was 81.
He walked with a cane held the way somebody held an object they found inconvenient but necessary.
Competently.
Without sentimentality.
He was tall.
Or had once been taller before age redistributed posture.
White hair.
A face completely lived in.
Every year represented in its lines.
His eyes were pale gray.
Perhaps once sharper.
Now patient.
Robert was already seated when Ethan arrived.
Marcus sat beside him.
Ethan reached the table.
Stopped.
For a moment, he simply looked.
The man near the beginning of the chain.
The person whose choice 31 years earlier set in motion the sequence that eventually produced Ethan standing there.
Ethan had no idea what to say.
Robert looked up.
"Sit down, son."
His voice was low.
Careful.
The voice of somebody who had spent decades learning words shouldn't be wasted.
"You're making me nervous standing there."
Ethan sat.
Robert studied him for a long time.