And the afternoon after that.
Eventually, I asked whether he was actually interested in historical maps.
“Terribly interested,” he answered.
“Then why haven’t you checked any out?”
He smiled.
“Because if I do, I’ll have to think of another reason to see you.”
That was Thomas.
Never flashy.
Never particularly fashionable.
He wore the same brown leather jacket for eighteen years and believed a perfectly good refrigerator should never be replaced merely because a newer one had a screen.
He worked hard, invested carefully, and rarely discussed money unless there was a practical reason.
When he sold his engineering consultancy at fifty-eight, he told me the proceeds would allow us to slow down.
I asked how much he’d received.
“Enough that you can finally stop worrying about whether the roof will leak,” he said.
I trusted him.
Not because I was foolish, but because for nearly four decades, that trust had been earned.
