He placed both hands beside the wooden box.
“Richard left very specific instructions,” he said.
Rebecca crossed one elegant leg over the other.
Her older brother Andrew stared at his watch.
Michael, the youngest of Richard’s children at forty-six, stood by the window rather than sit near me.
No one had spoken to me since entering the room.
Samuel turned the box toward me.
“Claire.”
My throat tightened.
Richard had been dead for four days.
I still expected my phone to light up with his name.
I still woke in the night listening for the soft scrape of his slippers crossing our bedroom floor.
I still automatically reached for the second coffee cup every morning before remembering there was no reason to fill it.
Samuel pushed the box toward me.
“Your husband instructed me to give this to you before we discuss anything concerning his estate.”
Rebecca smiled.
Then Samuel spoke the sentence Richard’s children had been waiting to hear.
