The next morning, someone pounded on my door.
I got up feeling half dead and opened it.
Mrs. Rhode’s lawyer stood there holding a dented metal lunchbox.
I had no right to grieve as much as I did.
“What do you want?” I asked.
“Mrs. Rhode left additional instructions. For you alone.” He held out the box. “Actually, she left you one thing.”
I took it because I did not know what else to do. Inside was an envelope with my name written on it in her shaky handwriting and a plain metal key.
My hands started shaking before I even opened the letter.
“Actually, she left you one thing.”
James,
You’re probably angry that I left you nothing, but believe me — what I prepared for you will change your life.
I know you originally agreed to our arrangement because of the money, but somewhere between grocery runs, burned dinners, and terrible television shows, you became the son I found late in life.
