Nobody had to explain anything.
And his fiancée took hold of his arm and said: “Wes. Who are those children?”
And he could not answer.
What the glass meant.
It took me until about four o’clock that afternoon to understand what I had actually seen on that step.
Loretta Marr did not drop that glass because she was looking at four grandchildren she did not know existed.
She dropped it because there were four.
She knew.
And I know she knew because of a letter that is still in the third drawer of the bureau in that front room, which she got out herself, at about half past three, in front of her son, because once I
started she decided to do it properly.
The letter.
In the April of 2017 I wrote to Weston Marr at the only address I had, because he had changed his number and his email bounced and his friends had closed ranks.
