He took one look at the file and said, “Should I go?”
I appreciated that he asked.
“No. Stay.”
We sat around the kitchen table.
Ellen opened the folder.
Inside were surveys, zoning notes, old estimates, and several sketches far more detailed than the one Robert had left for me.
I stared at them.
“When did he do all this?”
“About three years ago.”
One year before he died.
“Why?”
Ellen folded her hands.
“He was worried about you.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It wasn’t.”
She smiled.
“He told me he thought retirement had become too small for you.”
I blinked.
“Robert said that?”
“He said you loved your family, loved this house, loved your neighborhood, and had somehow convinced yourself those things were enough to fill every hour of the rest of your life.”
I sat back.
The accuracy of it irritated me.
“He could have told me.”
“I believe you told him something similar every time he suggested traveling.”
