She did not answer, but she moved closer, her rake smoothing the mulch into a neat, protective blanket over the sleeping flowers.
By one o’clock, the wind had grown stronger, rattling the empty aluminum gutters of the garage.
I went inside to wash the dirt from my fingernails, the kitchen smelling of the cinnamon tea I had left brewing on the stove.
A yellow legal pad sat on the kitchen counter, covered in Gary’s slow, careful handwriting from our last meeting.
At exactly ten minutes past two, a car door shut in the driveway.
I looked through the window and saw Gary walking up the porch steps, his leather briefcase held tightly against his wool coat.
I opened the door before he could knock, the scent of damp leaves following him into the hallway.
“The roads are slick out near the professional park,” Gary said, setting his briefcase on the kitchen table.
He took off his glasses and began to clean them slowly with the wide end of his silk tie, pausing between his movements.
“Is it finished, Gary?” I asked.
He put his glasses back on, adjusting them carefully behind his ears.
“The judge signed the decree at eleven this morning,” Gary said, his voice slow and deliberate. “It is fully certified.”
He unzipped his briefcase and pulled out a thick manila envelope, sliding it across the counter next to my tea mug.
“You are Clara Vance again, Clara,” he said. “The legal marriage is completely dissolved, as if it never happened.”
I took the paper out of the envelope, my eyes tracing the dark blue county seal stamped in the corner.
“What about the eighty-five-thousand-dollar inheritance?” I asked.
“The bank has fully released the temporary hold,” Gary said. “Every dollar is back in your private account, protected by the court order.”
I touched the rough edge of the blue backing paper on the annulment decree.
“And Dr. Paulson?” I asked.
“The state medical board suspended his license yesterday afternoon,” Gary said, pausing to let the words land. “The prosecutor is moving forward with the fraud charges against both of them.”
I set the papers back on the counter, next to the yellow legal pad.
“He wanted me to believe he was dying,” I said. “I would have given him everything.”
Gary closed his briefcase, the brass latches snapping shut with a sharp, metallic click.
“You stopped it, Clara,” Gary said. “Most people in your position would have signed the transfer just to avoid the argument.”
“I had to protect what my father left behind,” I said.
I walked him to the door, the squeaking brakes of a passing truck on the street reminding me of my own old Buick.
“Call me if you need anything else,” Gary said. “The house is yours, the money is yours, and the court records are sealed.”
“Thank you, Gary,” I said.
I closed the heavy oak door and turned the deadbolt, the metal mechanism sliding into the frame with a solid, reassuring sound.
The house was completely quiet now, the gray afternoon light falling in long, dusty blocks across the living room carpet.
On the side table sat the hand-carved wooden jewelry box Ben had bought for me, its polished cherry wood catching the dull light.
