“Mr. Grant, establish a foundation tomorrow,” I said. “Call it the Walter and Rose Bennett Endowment.”
He reached for his notes.
“Put fifty million dollars into a permanent trust to fund residential care, medical treatment, and private care for residents in this city’s state-funded nursing-home wings.”
He looked up. “Fifty million? Margaret, you could live anywhere. Travel. Buy a home in Europe.”
“I’m seventy-eight. I don’t need another mansion. I need to know that another woman won’t spend her old age in a cold room believing nobody remembers her.”
“And the remaining money?”
I touched the letter in my pocket.
“Keep this suite available to residents who need somewhere to watch the sunset.”
After he left, I settled into Walter’s balcony chair and pulled his wool blanket over my knees. The autumn air smelled of fallen leaves and approaching rain.
I read his letter again. He had been selfish and cowardly, and his final attempt to repair the past had wounded me in ways he had refused to face.
