I remembered that letter only as another argument. Tony remembered the sentence I had ignored.
“Robert wrote that you should call whenever Lily was ready,” he said. “He left his number.”
“So you called him without asking me.”
“Yes.”
“And you told him where we were staying.”
“I told him about the trip. He offered to pay for something Lily would enjoy.”
“You brought him into our daughter’s last trip without telling me.”
“How did he arrange it?”
“I gave him the hotel’s guest-services number. He called after I told him what Lily wanted to do and paid the vendors directly.”
“You brought him into our daughter’s last trip without telling me.”
“I did not know if he was sincere.”
“Then why invite him?”
Tony looked toward the hotel.
“Robert wanted to come at the beginning of the trip.”
“Because Lily is running out of time.”
The words stopped me.
He continued carefully.
“Robert wanted to come at the beginning of the trip. I told him no. I said you had to decide whether he ever met her.”
“Yet he is here.”
“He called last night. He said he could not bear the thought of losing the chance without at least asking you in person.”
“I kept thinking we were waiting for the perfect moment.”
“You still made the decision alone.”
“I know.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
His eyes filled.
He remained beside the patio table, making no attempt to approach us.
“Because I kept thinking we were waiting for the perfect moment when we might not have another one. I told him he could come to the hotel, but I promised nothing. No meeting. No introduction. Nothing unless you and Lily agreed.”
“You should have told me before he got on a plane.”
“Yes.”
I looked back at Robert.
