"And tonight you walked in here as Natalie Cole," Calvin said. "With a husband and a daughter, and an appointment Adam made online. And I didn't know you at first. I swear that. I took twenty pictures before I knew. You've changed a lot. You've changed less than you think." He paused. "And then I asked if you'd been here before, and you said no. Fast. Like that. And I thought about that girl sitting alone on that bench in August with her mother's funeral program in her purse. And I got angry. Which I don't do, in this room. This room isn't for that. But I did. And I pulled up the file to be sure, and I was sure, and then I said something I had no business saying. In front of your daughter. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I did it."
He did not say he was sorry he had done it. Natalie noticed that. She found she respected him for it.
"What do you want?" Adam said. His voice was hoarse. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not going to do anything," Calvin said. "That's not my place. I'm not going to call Claire tonight and tell her I found you. I'm not going to give her your name or your address, and I won't give you hers. It's not mine to give." He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a business card and set it on the bench beside Natalie, face up. Mercer Portrait Studio, an address, a phone number. "But I'll tell you this, and you should hear it plainly. If she asks me again, I'm not going to lie to her. I lied to her once by accident. I won't do it on purpose. And if you want to get a message to her, a letter, anything, you can bring it here, and I'll see she gets it. That's all I've got. The rest is up to you."
Natalie looked at the card. She did not pick it up.
"Does she—" She stopped, and started again. "Is she all right? Is she—what is she like?"