Six Years After the Lake Trip, One Blue Envelope Upended Everything Clara Believed

“I never asked you for a credit line,” I said.

“You’ll need one when the taxes come due in December,” he said.

He spun around and walked through the living room toward the front hall.

I followed, staying five feet behind him.

He opened the front door, and the cool late-morning wind rushed into the hall.

The smell of wet oak leaves filled the entry.

“I tried to help you, Clara,” Dean said from the top porch step.

“I brought you bread.