He looked at her, and she looked at him, and for a long moment neither of them spoke, because some moments need a little space before the words come, because what was about to happen had been 30 years in the making and deserved, at minimum, a breath.
Then Mr. Caleb opened his mouth.
“I want to ask you something,” he said, “and I want you to know that whatever your answer is, your job here is not affected. That is not what this is about.”
Rebecca said nothing. She waited.
He looked down at his hands for a moment, then back up at her.
“Your mother’s name was Victoria Lawson.”
It was not a question. He had read it on the birth certificate. He already knew. But he said it carefully, the way you say something when you need to hear it out loud in a room, when you need the air to hold it.
“Yes,” Rebecca said. Her voice was level and quiet.
He nodded slowly. He pressed his lips together and looked at the window for a moment, at the deep orange sky going dark, then back at her.
“I knew Victoria Lawson,” he said. “A long time ago. We were young.” He paused. “I was young, and I was foolish, and I did something that I have never fully allowed myself to think about until very recently.”