The rest of the day crawled.
I tied my shoes, braided my hair, wiped jam off faces, then reread the letter so many times my thumb left a smudge on the ink.
Every time I folded it, my stomach turned.
Richie and I exchanged a look.
That evening, as the girls watched TV and Richie made spaghetti, I stood by the window, staring at the apple tree’s twisted branches.
Richie came up behind me, arms around my waist.
« If you want, Tanya, I’ll be there. You don’t have to do anything alone. »
I leaned back into him. « I just need to know, Rich. He was always so kind. He always left an envelope of cash during Christmas, just so that we could spoil the girls with candy. »
« You don’t have to do anything alone. »
« Then let’s find out what he left you. Together, if you want. »
My husband kissed my hair and then went back to plating the girls’ dinner.
I felt steadier.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I wandered the house in circles, pausing at the back window. I caught my reflection, brown hair pulled into a fraying ponytail, eyes tired, pajama pants sagging at the knees.
It wasn’t the picture of a woman ready to dig up the past.
I wandered the house in circles, pausing at the back window.
I thought about the lessons my mother told me as a kid:
« You can’t hide what you are, Tanya. Eventually, everything finds its way to the surface. »
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