Last Sunday somebody knocked at the door in the middle of it.
I opened it with a tea towel in my hand and there was a man on the step I had never seen in my life. Sixty-something, good coat, a document wallet under his arm.
“Mrs. Breen? I’m Hollis Teague. I acted for Leland Brack.”
I had not heard that name said out loud by another adult in about nineteen years.
He took an envelope out of the wallet and held it out.
“He asked me to bring you this today. It was the last thing he arranged.”
And he went. Down that path and into a car, before I had got one question out.
I came back into a kitchen with about thirty people in it and everything stopped.
Maud took the tea towel out of my hand. Somebody turned the radio off.
They all came round me. Ten grown adults, and two of them have grey in their hair now, and they stood round a woman of fifty-seven holding an envelope.
