Clara’s keys jingled at the door. She stepped inside and froze when she saw Grandma Ruth seated at the table, with Noah and me holding the letters and trust papers.
Her purse slid off her shoulder and landed against her hip.
“Eric? Noah? What are you doing here?”
“We know about our mother,” I said. “Grandma told us everything.”
For a moment, Clara just froze.
“I don’t know what your grandmother has been telling you, but she’s old and confused.”
“Clara, stop,” Noah snapped.
Noah looked at me. I could see him bending, the way he always bent when she used that voice.
I lifted one of Mom’s letters and read aloud:
”Clara, please love my boys until I can hold them again. The treatment is hard, but I will come back. Hopefully. Tell them I never wanted to leave.”
Clara’s grip on her purse loosened. She lowered herself into the chair across from us, one hand flattening against the table.
“You had no right.”
I kept my voice even.
“She trusted you.”
Clara pressed her knuckles to her lips.
“I know.”
