Ryan put a hand in his jacket pocket and brought out two rings in a folded tissue, and he didn’t hand them to Ethan.

He handed them to me.

“Grandma’s box,” he said.

“Nobody has touched them since Wednesday morning.”

The gold was warm and worn thin at the back, and it slid onto my finger with no resistance at all, as though it had been sized there ninety years ago and left for me.

My ring went onto Ethan’s hand.

He held it up to look at it, and the chairs laughed.

Then Ryan took the envelope from his other pocket and passed it over.