“Excuse me,” he said in a measured voice. “Are you Felicity Brown?”
Her heart jumped violently. She nodded, her voice barely audible when she replied, “Yes, sir.”
He exhaled, relief flickering briefly across his face.
“My name is Aaron Wallace,” he said. “The elderly man you have been helping every day near the unfinished building by the bus stop is my father.”
The words struck her like cold water. Her mind struggled to connect the gentle, confused man she fed with leftovers to the man standing in front of her who clearly belonged to a different world.
“That man,” she whispered, stunned, “he is your father?”
Aaron nodded. “His name is Harold Wallace.”
Felicity felt the ground tilt beneath her. Images flooded her thoughts. Harold sitting on the curb with shaking hands. Harold thanking her every day like it was a prayer. Harold asking the same questions over and over with quiet embarrassment.
Aaron leaned closer and lowered his voice. “My father suffers from severe episodic memory loss. When it happens, he forgets who he is and where he belongs. He wanders, and he stays wherever kindness finds him.”
Felicity pressed her lips together, emotion tightening her chest.