“In case you ever lose yours or need help with the porch lock on a stormy night.”

“I’ve never once lost my house key,” I said.

“A good executor plans ahead for every little thing,” Dean said, sliding the keys deep into his pocket again.

We sat down at the dining table while Sophie set out paper napkins and three water glasses by the placemats.

Dean took the seat at the head of the table, in the high-backed chair that had been Daniel’s ever since we bought the house.

“The probate court gave me an update on the final estate filings this morning,” Dean said, passing the chicken stew to Sophie.