“There’s a café in town. The one near the library.”
“I can come.”
“It would take you a while.”
“I’m not in Massachusetts anymore.”
I straightened. “Where are you?”
“Connecticut. My wife’s parents live nearby. We came down for the weekend.”
“How nearby?”
“About an hour and a half, I think.”
I looked at Claire. She whispered, “Today?”
I returned to the call. “Would you be willing to meet today?”
“I’ve been willing for a long time.”
“Then today,” I said.
We agreed on four.
Mom stood by the window with her back to us.
“Is he coming?” she asked.
“Yes.”
Dad looked at me. “Here?”
“No. The café.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
I felt the old urge to put everyone else’s feelings before mine.
But Grandpa’s letter lay folded in my pocket.
Sometimes silence protects the person keeping it, not the person who needs to hear it.
“You can meet him another time,” I said.
Dad nodded slowly.
Mom turned from the window. “Lena, I know this is not my place, but—”
“It isn’t.”
She accepted it without protest.
Elena gathered the papers from the table and returned them to the box. “We should discuss the estate before you leave.”
“I suppose we should.”
The three followed me into Grandpa’s study; I left the door open.
Elena calmly explained the estate. The house, furniture, and contents were mine unless the will said otherwise. Grandpa left modest savings, his tools to a vocational school, and a small fund for Claire.
Claire looked surprised at her name.
“He left me something?”
“A fund,” Elena said. “Not large, but intentionally set aside.”
Claire glanced at Mom and Dad, then back at Elena. “Why?”
“Arthur wrote that he wanted you to have one thing from him that did not pass through your parents.”
“What about them?”
Elena closed the folder. “There is no inheritance designated to either of your parents.”
Dad tensed but said nothing.
