He tapped his index finger on the heavy paper.

“Take the money, Mara, and let an old dead story stay buried where it belongs.”

I looked down at the crisp blue ink on the check.

Ten thousand dollars was four months of my high school counselor’s pay after taxes.

It would cover my car loan and leave enough to pay off my summer credit card bill.

“Does this waiver include the house on Elm Street too?” I asked.

“The house stays under estate control until the final probate hearing on November twenty-fourth.” He leaned back, the red vinyl booth creaking under his weight.