Our house stood three blocks from the beach, pale blue with white trim.
Robert had chosen the blue.
I had called it too cheerful.
He painted it anyway.
Then I loved it for twenty-three years.
Gregory waited while I unlocked the door.
Inside, the house smelled faintly of wood polish and the ocean.
I stopped in the foyer.
A pair of Robert’s old sandals still sat beneath the bench.
I had never moved them.
Gregory noticed where I was looking.
“You want me to put those away?”
“No.”
“All right.”
The blue desk waited beside the stairs.
I walked toward it.
The envelope was exactly where Ellen had described it.
Cream paper.
My name.
Margaret — Cape May.
Robert’s handwriting slanted slightly forward, as if even his words were always on their way somewhere.
I touched the envelope but did not open it.
“Mom?”
“I need a minute.”
Gregory nodded and went into the kitchen.
