I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 32
After Paolo left Whitmore, he mailed me a roll of blue tailor’s chalk every year on my birthday.
There was never a card. Just old newspaper for wrapping.
The last one arrived when I was seventeen. It was the same day he testified at a union hearing. Afterward, he left New York with his daughter. Grandfather forbade anyone in the family from speaking his name again.
“Do you still have the red thread?” Julien asked.
“It’s sewn into a square of felt under my worktable in Paris.”
Julien took a small envelope from his briefcase. “I had someone retrieve it from your old station. I didn’t open it.”
Inside was the faded strand of red thread.
I closed my hand around it, and for a second I could almost smell the scorched interfacing from the old factory.
“We’ll go tomorrow,” I said.