I Brought Groceries to My Elderly Neighbor Every Sunday for Twelve Years. After His Funeral, His Lawyer Handed Me a Suitcase I Never Expected.
“He wrote to me for years.
I know.”
“He saved yours.”
A longer silence followed.
“That’s harder,” Richard said at last.
I wanted to tell him he was welcome to come sit in Arthur’s kitchen.
I wanted to say his father loved him, though love had clearly not been enough to repair the damage between them.
But the lawyers had asked us to keep our distance while the case continued, and I feared turning a fragile moment into another argument.
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