The invitation arrived in a cream-colored envelope, heavy paper, gold embossing.
Adam held it like it might explode.
“What is it?” Sandra asked from the kitchen.
“A memorial event. Honoring survivors. They want me to speak.”
“Are you going to go?”
“I don't know.”
“You should. It might be good for you.”
“Or it might open old wounds.”
“Wounds need air to heal.”
---
The event was at the Grand Meridian, the fanciest hotel in Blackhaven.
Adam had never been inside. The lobby was marble and crystal chandeliers, men in tuxedos, women in gowns. He felt out of place in his dark suit and work boots.
Sandra had insisted on the suit. She wore a simple black dress, elegant and understated.
“You clean up well,” she said.
“I feel like a clown.”
“You look like a hero. There's a difference.”
