Hard not to wonder what memory she cherished behind those wistful-woman eyes. They had connections, he and this woman. Such grace in those hands. Roy had to wonder what his son had done to chase her away. Your stories make sense to me.
Old stories are dependable, good for everybody.
Dreams are tricky. You can't depend on dreams. I can't, anyway. In dreams he saw images that were both familiar and strange, things that beckoned and taunted, often played on his fears. He liked stories better, too.