He held the box out to me. It was heavier than it looked, the weight shifting slightly inside as I took it from his hands.
“What is in it, Arthur?” Claire asked, stepping closer to my shoulder.
“My duties as her executor do not include discussing the contents of her personal files,” Arthur said.
He turned toward his sedan, then paused on the bottom step.
“I have fulfilled my obligation,” Arthur said.
“Arthur, wait,” I said. “Did she write anything down?”
“Everything she wanted to say is in the box, Thomas,” he said, and then he walked down the driveway.
The house was dark by the time Claire finally went home to her husband. I did not turn on the lamps, preferring the grey light that filtered through the sheer curtains.
I sat on the edge of the sofa, the brown box resting on my knees like a weight. The cardboard was cold to the touch.
