“Margaret,” he said, and the word felt like a home he had built with his own two hands.
Arthur believed the forgetting started in his thumbs. Dotage
Back at Sunny Meadows, Patience would find him an hour later, asleep on the bench, a peaceful smile on his face, his hand curled around nothing. But that was the outside world’s version of the story. Inside Arthur’s head, he was young. He was dancing. And a woman in a red coat was laughing like wind chimes, and she would never, ever become a blur again. “Margaret,” he said, and the word felt like