He wore it fishing.
He wore it to summer concerts.
He wore it in one of the first photographs we had together.
When I asked where it came from, Reed always said, “An old friend.”
Walter Greene had been a retired electrician who volunteered at Harbor House.
He met Reed there.
Walter helped residents with résumés, drove them to job interviews, and taught basic home repairs.
When Reed mentioned being interested in electrical work, Walter found him an apprenticeship.
He also gave Reed the hat.
“He said I looked too serious all the time,” Reed told me.
Walter died in March.
Three months before our wedding.
Reed had gone to the funeral alone.
I’d thought it was the funeral of a former coworker.
That was another lie.
A smaller one.
But still a lie.
Before he died, Walter had written Reed a short note.
Reed carried it in his wallet.
