Patricia tried to stop them before they reached the door.
"That photograph belongs to company history," she announced, stepping between Ethan and the entrance.
Margaret closed her handbag.
"No, Patricia. It's mine."
"Your accusations are defamatory."
Ethan faced his former manager.
"Then explain why your father told my family Margaret stole from him."
Patricia's face hardened.
"Your grandfather was involved in financial misconduct. That's public record."
"Public record or your father's version?"
Several customers turned to listen.
Patricia lowered her voice.
"You don't understand what you're getting involved in."
"Then tell me."
She offered no explanation.
Ethan opened the door for Margaret and guided her into the rain. His old blue pickup was parked beneath a broken streetlight, with a blanket and an emergency flashlight behind the seat.
He helped her climb inside.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To my grandmother."
Margaret stared through the windshield.
"Rose may not want to see me."
"Then we'll let her decide."
They drove through familiar streets lined with small houses and darkened storefronts. Margaret watched Willow Creek pass beyond the windows, recognizing buildings that had survived and mourning those that hadn't.
The pharmacy where her husband once collected prescriptions was now a real estate office. The bakery had become a payday lending store. The movie theater stood empty.
Thirty years had changed almost everything.
Except the little white house at the end of Cedar Lane.
When Ethan turned into the driveway, Margaret began crying.
"Henry painted that porch himself."
Ethan looked toward the house.
"Grandma still complains that he used the wrong shade of white."
Margaret smiled through her tears.
"She always wanted cream."
Ethan helped her up the walkway.
Rose Walker was sitting near the living room window, reading beneath an old brass lamp. Her walker stood beside the chair.
"Ethan?" she called. "You're early."
"I brought someone."
Rose looked up.
The book slipped from her hands.
For several seconds, neither woman moved.
Then Rose whispered, "Margaret?"
The visitor nodded.
"Hello, Rosie."
Rose's expression twisted between shock and grief.
"I thought you were dead."
Margaret covered her mouth.
"I thought you hated me."
Rose tried to stand, but her injured hip stopped her.
Margaret hurried forward.
The two women embraced, both crying.
Ethan remained near the doorway, realizing he was witnessing the end of a silence that had lasted longer than his entire life.
Finally, Rose pulled back.
"Richard told me you disappeared with the money."
Margaret shook her head.
"And Daniel told me you never wanted to see me again."
Rose's eyes widened.
"Daniel Voss?"
Margaret nodded.
Rose gripped her hand.
"Then we were both lied to."
And when Ethan showed her Henry's photograph, Rose whispered something neither of them expected.
"I know where Henry hid the rest of the evidence."