The twenty-three words were typed in a heavy, dark typeface that stood out from the rest of the page.
The clause required Scott to remain married to me in a good-faith union for twelve months after Evelyn’s passing to inherit the seven point three million dollars.
I kept those twenty-three bold words in my mind during the entire forty-minute drive back to Oak Creek. The highway was quiet, the sky turning the color of bruised plums as the sun dipped below the line of oaks.
The evening air was cooling fast when I pulled into our gravel driveway, the shadow of our two-story colonial stretching dark and quiet across the front lawn.
Scott was already standing by the brick fireplace when I let myself in through the side door, the lights in the hallway turned down low.
He held a thick blue paper folder in his left hand, tapping the edge against his thigh with a fast, restless rhythm that made the room feel small.
“We need to clear this up before the county offices close tomorrow afternoon,” he said, not looking at my face as he spoke.
He checked his gold watch, then held the blue folder out toward me with an impatient jerk of his wrist.
“What is in there, Scott?” I asked, setting my briefcase down on the entryway bench.
He stepped forward, his leather shoes silent on the Persian rug we bought together in Chicago three years ago.
“Just some quitclaim deeds for the Oak Creek property and the lake house,” he said, his words tripping over each other in that rapid-fire way he used when he was backed into a corner. “These papers are just standard procedure, Avery, to clean up the title work before we go any further.”
I did not reach for the folder.
My hand went to my left ring finger, and I slowly twisted the silver wedding band around my knuckle, feeling the cool metal slide against my skin.
“Jerome told me the probate court does not even begin reviewing the assets until next month,” I said, watching his eyes dart toward the dark window.
