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college, hadn’t Max had told her his father was a farmer, not a man with an international travel schedule? “That doesn’t explain why she didn’t give her son a letter from a friend.”
    Max blinked. “Bluntly, I think she blamed you, and America, for my accident. For making her live through the pain of thinking I would die.”
    “I see.” Jill nodded.
    “Do you?” He shook his head. “I never did understand her.”
    “No?”
    “No. She was not happy a day of my life that I recall.” Max appeared uncomfortable, as if he had said more than he wanted to. “But enough about childhood. Let me just say she was a tough woman to deal with.”
    Besides sending the letters, Jill had made a telephone call to his mother. In her mind she heard the echo of the dismissive, angry tone in his mother’s voice. “Maximilian is not here. Do not call this number ever again.” The words followed by the disconnect buzz of the telephone.
    It would not help anything if she told Max about that call. “So, both of your parents are gone then?”
    He nodded. “Yes. And yours?”
    “My father died seven years ago. My mother is alive, but in an assisted living facility. As of yesterday, actually. She has Alzheimer’s disease.” She swallowed.
    “This happened yesterday? And now I show up? Pretty bad timing on my part.”
    “Things happen when they happen. You had no way of knowing.”
    “Your mother is young, though, yes? How old is she?”
    “Sixty-three.”
    “Life is filled with tragedy.” Max shook his head. “I’m sorry for her, and for you, Jill. I know how frustrating it is, not to know your own past. Not to remember those who love you.” He shuddered. “Do you have sisters and brothers?”
    “No. I’m an only child.”
    He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve been very insensitive tonight. I shouldn’t have just dumped all this drama from my past on you. And I shouldn’t be asking you all these questions about, about people I should remember.”
    “There’s no need to apologize. It’s an unusual situation, all around. There aren’t any rules to cover this kind of thing, are there?”
    “No. No rules for this.” Max glanced at his shoes, and then up at her. “Well, that’s the whole story then. I hope it’s helped in some way, to tell you about it.”
    She felt raw. “Thank you for thinking of me. What are you going to do to try and remember. Talk to other people, too?”
    “I don’t know. I think so, although it’s awkward.” He sighed and stood up. “Thank you again for being so kind, not just slamming the door.”
    “I’m not that kind of girl,” Jill said, trying to keep it light, but she sounded hurt.
    “I can see that.” He stepped toward her. “I was a lucky man.”
    She looked down, her face red, and then quickly back at him. “I could help you. Try to help you, I mean. If you want me to.”
    “What?”
    “I could drive you around, share my memories, and help you reconstruct some of the gaps. If you have time, you and I could talk again, meet . . .” Jill cleared her throat. She should have thought more about this before she spoke, she realized. But Max had always done this to her. Made her drop her guard because he was so honest, so open. “Maybe that’s a dumb idea.”
    “No, my gosh, no. It’s so generous. You’d do that for me? I’d appreciate hearing anything you could tell me, details about things I said and did.” He paused. “We were lovers, ja? ”
    She put her hand to her throat. “I, we. Yes. We were.”
    “If you don’t mind, I want to know about that, too. Our past.” His eyes flashed. “My doctors said I might remember something, particularly something as emotionally charged as an intimate relationship.”
    “It’ll be a pretty one-sided story. I’ll always be the one in the right.” Again she tried to joke and keep her voice light. She failed.
    Max blinked, digesting what she had offered. “And your husband? Or boyfriend? They won’t mind