I Brought Groceries to My Elderly Neighbor Every Sunday for Twelve Years. After His Funeral, His Lawyer Handed Me a Suitcase I Never Expected.

“I just wanted to know.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

I could hear traffic behind him and the faint bell of a shop door.

I imagined him standing somewhere in a town where nobody knew what he had once been to Arthur.

“He kept letters too,” I said.

“Mr.

Bennett can tell your attorney what can be shared.

There are things I think you’d want.”