“I look back now and it’s like a catalogue of disasters,” Hana whispered. “Little miscommunications which created a huge mess that seemed impossible to unravel. I should have written, but feared you’d ignore me and I couldn’t bear that. I tried phoning. Once, I waited an hour for my turn to use the phone box on the corner of the promenade. I heard your voice and slammed the phone down. After three or four times of making a fool of myself, I gave up.”
Robert reached for her hand and it felt unnatural to Hana. The undemonstrative father of her childhood kissed the back of her wrist. “Ah, sweetheart,” he breathed. A tear dripped from the end of his chin and landed on the carpet. “I prayed you’d call back, but you never did.”
Hana gulped. “Mark must be in his late fifties now,” she said. Rob
