“Oh, Cristina, you forgot your wallet!”
She got no response when she leaned out the front door. She looked down to 19th Street, but Cristina must’ve picked up a brisk pace to get home. She looked up to 20th Street just to cover all the bases, but Cristina wouldn’t have walked in that direction. She and Angelo lived on Christian just east of 5th Street.
Agnes walked back in the house. She’d just have to call up Cristina and remind her that she’d forgotten her wallet. Even if she weren’t there yet, Angelo would be at home and he could tell Cristina she had to come back for her wallet. She went right to the kitchen and plopped the wallet down on the table. When she turned and reached for the phone, she heard the sound of metal clanking on the floor.
She reached down to the floor to pick up – a dime, a quarter, and a key. Odd, she found it, that Cristina would keep a loose key in her wallet. It had a familiar look to it, so she put the change down on the table and investigated. It looked very familiar and, turning it over, she recognized the initials in his own handwriting: N.B.
Why did Cristina have a key with Norman’s initials on it? Norman. He’d been dead eleven months now and hadn’t been in Philadelphia since the Navy shipped him off to England. But now Agnes recognized the key to Norman’s private architectural studio. Why did Cristina have a key to Norman’s private studio?
Agnes rifled through the wallet. One dollar bill, sixty cents in change, and a small stack of photos. Her parents on their wedding day in 1902. Her sons’ first communions. And Norman in Florence – with Cristina. She sank to the floor and a catatonic freeze seized her.
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