I had considered those visits a kindness.

Arthur had been counting them as reasons to make it to next week.

Elise reached across the table and took my hand.

“We don’t have to decide what this means tonight,” she said.

“We just have to treat it carefully.”

I closed the journal.

Outside, Arthur’s porch light was off for the first time in years.

I realized that the most frightening part of inheriting his house was knowing nobody would be waiting inside it when Sunday came.