He laughed and pulled me onto his lap as though we were 20 years old again.
“Eleanor, they’re things I put in place a long time ago. I’m only making sure every line is airtight. You’ll always be safe, no matter what those two think of me.”
I did not ask him to explain.
I should have.
But the months drifted by in a soft warmth, winter easing into an uncertain spring, and I allowed myself to believe the storm beyond our bedroom would never cross the threshold.
—
It happened on a Tuesday.
Garrett poured his coffee and reached for the newspaper. Then one hand pressed against his chest. He stared at me in surprise, as if he had suddenly remembered something important.
And then he was gone.
A heart attack.
At the cemetery, the wind sliced through the black dress I wore.
Margaret stood on the opposite side of the open grave, dry-eyed, looking at me as though I were a mark on clean linen.
