I remembered thinking it was odd, because Claire never handled property taxes.

She hated anything involving forms, stamps, or deadlines. She once paid a parking ticket three months late because she said the envelope looked “too official” and made her anxious.

But that day, she’d taken the letter and slipped it under a stack of Target receipts.

Now it sat on the counter unopened.

Or at least, it looked unopened.

The top flap had been carefully resealed.

Claire’s voice changed when she saw me pick it up.