I had not cashed it.
I had kept it in my dresser, under the socks, because my mother taught me that you keep the things people hand you when they think no one is watching.
At that funeral, Celia’s attorney had read a short portion of her will aloud.
Bequests to the church, the library, a scholarship.
Then he had said, “The remainder of the estate is addressed in a separate instrument, which will be delivered privately to the parties concerned.”
I had assumed I was not a party concerned.
I was wrong.
I just didn’t know it yet.
Seven days after the hearing, I went with them to Dulles International Airport.
Spencer wore an expensive charcoal suit and a watch that cost more than my car, and he spent most of the time checking his phone.
Eli was strangely quiet.
He kept glancing at his father, then looking away every time I tried to catch his eye.
