50
Mr. O’Hannigan’s letter. Oxford. 29 July 2000.
“That was the last time you saw Caitlynn?” Francois Moolman asked as he faced Emilee. He rubbed the dent in his chin and fanned himself with the letter that had caused all the panic.
Emilee nodded, not trusting her voice. She had waited three years back then, plus another four, only to mourn them then. Never to forget. Now this. She shook her head as if to free herself from the new calamity.
“Twenty-four years?”
Emilee stood, withdrew her hand from Francois’s, and faced the river. “She would have turned twenty-seven in May: Caitlynn Aine O’Hannigan.” She spun around and grasped his hands. “Do you think she looks a little like me?” She gasped. “Dare I even hope?” Her hands slipped from his as the bravado drained from her arms.
She gave
