“My mother made her wishes very clear.” He glanced at the envelope in my hand. “You have forty-eight hours.”

The door shut behind him.

Mr. Thompson was quiet a moment. He removed his glasses, rubbed the bridge of his nose, and suddenly looked ten years older. “Eugene,” he said, “there may be more to Helen’s decisions than it appears.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means she asked me to carry out the will exactly as written. She didn’t explain everything.” He leaned toward me. “Go to the cabin before you decide what you think she did.”

I looked down at the keys. They rested in my palm like two small pieces of a life I’d never been allowed to see.