“Mom wrote it?”

“Three days before she went into the hospital,” Clare said.

“The blue ink is faded, but you can still read every word.”

The glass side door clicked open behind us.

My father stood on the stone threshold, his dark suit coat unbuttoned and his necktie pulled loose at the collar.

“Clare,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar raspy authority across the terrace.

“Get inside now.