For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke
I folded the drawing in half and slipped it into my flannel shirt pocket.
“You did a good job telling me this,” I said.
“We’re going to keep this our secret for now.”
Emma zipped up her canvas bag.
The fear in her eyes eased a little.
We went downstairs together.
Mark was putting his tailored coat back on.
Eleanor stood by the door holding a plastic container of leftover chicken.