Treated my grief like another piece of furniture in the room.
“Who gave you permission to come in here?” I asked.
Dorothy raised a brass key.
“I’m his mother. I’ve always had a copy.”
An aunt named Kaylin had already opened Simon’s desk drawer and was sorting through documents. I told her to stop touching it.
She turned toward me with open disdain.
“And what authority do you have now?” she asked. “You’re just a widow.”
That was when I started laughing.
Not because any part of the situation was amusing.
Six nights earlier, in a hospital room carrying the scent of antiseptic and rain, Simon had squeezed my hand and whispered, If they show up before the flowers d:ie, laugh first. Melanie will take care of the rest.
So I laughed until every person in the room stopped moving.
Dorothy’s smile disappeared.
“Have you completely lost your mind?”
“No,” I replied, brushing beneath one eye. “You’ve all repeated the same mistake you made with Simon for his entire life. You assumed that because he lived quietly, he had nothing. Because he never bragged, you thought he lacked influence. Because you never truly understood him, you convinced yourselves there was no plan.”
Knox straightened.
“There’s no will. We already checked.”
“Of course you checked,” I replied. “And naturally, you didn’t find one.”
My phone buzzed in my hand.
Part 2: The Documents on the Desk
