everything.”
Then she added, “It’s what your grandfather would have wanted.”
Behind the screen door, Robert held a coffee mug.
His hand was trembling.
Not from grief.
From something else.
Something I would understand later.
He refused to meet my eyes.
Across the street, Mrs. Bowden was watering her hydrangeas.
She stopped.
She didn’t wave. She simply stood there, hose running, and watched.
I knew she had seen everything.
I lifted the box and tucked the cedar chest beneath my arm.
“I’ll need the rest of my things,” I said.
