“His instructions, not mine.”

I turned it over.

The flap had been pressed flat with a thumbnail, the way he sealed everything.

“After the hearing, when.”

“After.” He put it back in the box and shut the lid.

I thought about the framed photo that used to sit on his workbench in the basement, a woman in a straw hat squinting into the sun.

“He never brought her picture upstairs.”