“She’s willing to stay.”
***
Three weeks later, an old friend showed me a picture of the wedding while I was buying milk.
Claire wore a simple cream dress.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“At least he found some happiness, Greta,” the woman said. “Especially when he had so little time left.”
I handed back the phone.
Robert wore the blue tie.
“I stood beside him for 39 years. People forget the years that happen before the gossip.”
Then I picked up my milk and left.
***
For four months, I cried, paid the bills, and fixed whatever broke.
Hanna ignored my calls. Steven answered twice, speaking to me like a distant acquaintance. Neither told me when Robert became worse.
I learned he’d died from a message Hanna sent after midnight.
Hanna ignored my calls.
“Dad is gone.”
***
The next afternoon, she called.
“You can’t come to the funeral.”
I gripped the kitchen counter.
“He was my husband.”
“He stopped being your husband.”
“He was still part of my life for 39 years.”
“Dad is gone.”
“Steven and I agreed that you being there would upset everyone.”
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
“I’m not having this argument again.”
The line went dead.
***
I spent the day of Robert’s funeral alone.
I cleaned until three in the afternoon, when I took Robert’s mug from the cupboard.
“I didn’t leave your father, Hanna.”
I almost threw it away.
Instead, I washed it and set it on the drying rack.
***
The next morning, Claire came to my door.
I let her into the kitchen but didn’t offer coffee.
“You have five minutes,” I said.
She placed the blue tie on the table.
I almost threw it away.
Then she removed three papers from her purse.
The first was a letter.
The second showed that the rest of Robert’s business money had been assigned to me.
The third was an old bank statement.
I picked it up.
My mother’s name appeared near the top.
