We had only spent a few weeks together, but somehow those weeks contained all the love and longing of the fifty-six years we had lost.
The funeral was small.
I stood beside his grave and finally allowed myself to cry.
Raymond attended, of course.
He waited until most of the mourners had left before approaching me.
“You know I’m your only living relative,” he said while adjusting his tie. “Family should manage family matters.”
I said nothing.
“Older people shouldn’t sign documents they don’t understand.”
“I understood everything Thomas said to me.”
Raymond gave me a thin smile.
“I helped Aunt Margaret with all her affairs. She was very grateful.”
A cold feeling moved through me.
I remembered the way Thomas’s face had changed whenever I mentioned Raymond’s name.
“I need to go home,” I said.
“We’ll talk soon,” Raymond replied. “We need to discuss your finances.”
I walked away without answering.
The next morning, someone knocked on my apartment door.
When I opened it, Walter stood outside holding a small wooden box beneath one arm.
“May I come inside?”
I stepped aside.
He placed the box on my living room table and sat across from me.
“Thomas instructed me to deliver this the morning after his funeral,” Walter explained. “Not before.”
I stared at him.
Walter continued.
