Arthur folded his hands. “I think that’s a question only he could answer. And he tried to.”
He reached into his briefcase and placed three more things on my table.
A USB drive with a sticky note that said: Watch this last.
A copy of Julian’s will.
And the key to the yellow house on Linden Street.
“As his legal spouse,” Arthur said, “you inherit the house, which is paid off and appraised at around $185,000. You’re also the beneficiary of a life insurance policy for $40,000. And the box from the hall closet. He said you’d know which one.”
I stared at the key.
For thirty-four years, I’d wanted a home that nobody could take away from me.
Now one was sitting on my kitchen table, and it felt like it had been paid for with my mother’s life.
“I don’t want it,” I said.
