Mr.

Henderson held his pen half an inch over the paper and waited.

“No cousins up in East Texas?

No nephews at all?”

“Mother didn’t have any sisters, and my father died before I was ten.”

“What about your daughter’s people?” he asked gently.

“I never had a daughter,” I said, staring right at the brass clock on his wall.

He tapped the pen three times on his green blotter, leaving a small wet black circle on the paper.