“You only had four months together, Thomas.”
“We had ninety-two days,” I said.
Claire stopped near the rosebushes, tilting her head to the left as she looked at the dead blooms.
“Do you think she knew?” Claire asked.
“She knew she was sick, Claire. We both did.”
“No,” Claire said. “I mean, do you think she knew how much she was leaving behind for you to clean up?”
I looked down at my shoes, rubbing my ring finger again.
“I am a history teacher,” I said. “I am used to sorting through what people leave behind.”
“This is different,” Claire said. “You look like you are waiting for a bell to ring.”
A car horn sounded from the front of the house, quiet but distinct.
“That will be Arthur,” I said.
Arthur Vance was already standing on the top step of the porch when we rounded the corner of the house. He adjusted his gold wire spectacles on his nose as I approached, his posture rigid.
In his right hand, he held a square cardboard box wrapped in heavy brown paper and tied with a thick green rubber band.
“Thomas,” Arthur said, his voice dry and precise. “Claire.”
“Arthur,” I said. “We were not expecting you to drive out here yourself.”
“I had a specific instruction,” Arthur said.
He looked at Claire, then back at me, his fingers tightening on the edges of the box.
“Emily visited my office four days before the wedding,” Arthur said.
“She did not mention any legal business to me,” I said.
Arthur adjusted his spectacles again, his eyes steady behind the glass.
“She made me promise to wait until the ground was settled, Thomas.”
“The ground?” I asked.
“Those were her exact words,” Arthur said. “She was very clear that you were not to receive this while she was alive.”
