Fifty-five years earlier, Clara had first seen Henry beside the park’s bandstand. Hawthorne Park was hosting a summer concert, and he carried two paper cups of lemonade through the crowd. Someone bumped his shoulder. One cup emptied over Clara’s new yellow dress before either of them could move.
Henry apologized so earnestly that Clara struggled not to laugh. He offered to pay for the dress, have it cleaned, or buy another immediately. Clara rejected every proposal but accepted coffee after the concert. “Only so you can practice carrying drinks safely,” she told him. He never forgot those words.