At first, I thought grief had simply made her sentimental.
One afternoon, she sat beside me flipping through an album until she stopped at an old photograph of herself and Walter as children.
They were standing outside their father’s house.
Denise smiled.
Then, almost casually, she asked,
“Is this house still in both your names, or only Walter’s?”
I barely thought about the question.
“Bennett handles all our legal paperwork.”
Then I offered her more coffee.
She smiled and changed the subject.
A few days later, I overheard my youngest son, Roman, speaking on the phone.
“I’ll drop Mom’s statements off. Don’t worry about it.”
I assumed he meant bank statements.
I thought he was helping me.
Walter had just died.
Everyone kept offering assistance.
At the time, it felt comforting.
When I mentioned it to Janet, she hesitated.
“Roman’s been helping with the banking,” I said.
“That’s good, Mom.”
“And Denise keeps bringing food.”
Janet went quiet.
“What?”
“Nothing. I’m glad people are checking on you.”
I thought grief was the worst thing waiting for me.
Then Bennett called the family together for the reading of Walter’s will.
When his office door opened, Bennett stepped into the waiting room in his usual gray suit.
“Eleanor. Everyone can come in now.”
Denise stood immediately.
She slipped an arm beneath mine as if I might collapse.
Janet appeared on my other side.
Charlie held the door.
Roman was already standing near the window.
I remember thinking Walter would have laughed at all of them treating me like glass.
We sat down.
Bennett opened the document.
He began reading.
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