Then he picked up the bags and walked into the pediatric ward.
Children smiled before he even reached them.
He handed out toys, coloring books, tiny stuffed animals. He pretended to trip over his own feet, and a little girl in a hospital bed laughed so hard she clapped.
A nurse passed him and grinned.
“You’re late, Professor Giggles.”
Charlie smiled back.
I stood there, frozen.
Nothing about this matched the suspicion Owen’s letter had created. Nothing about it looked like betrayal.
It looked like grief wearing a costume so children could laugh.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself.
“Charlie.”
He turned mid-joke.
The smile vanished from his face.
He pulled me into a quiet corner and tore off the clown nose.
“Meryl,” he whispered. “What are you doing here?”
“I should ask you that.”
I pulled Owen’s letter from my bag.
Charlie saw the handwriting, and all the strength seemed to leave him.
“Owen wrote to me,” I said. “He told me to follow you.”
Charlie covered his mouth for a second.
“I should’ve told you.”
“Then tell me now.”
He looked toward the ward, his eyes wet.
