That stopped me.
I remembered.
Portugal.
Montreal.
A train trip through the Canadian Rockies.
Robert would bring home brochures.
I would say later.
After Brenda’s busy season.
After Gregory’s move.
After the school year.
After the holidays.
Later had seemed infinite until it wasn’t.
“What was the cottage for?” Gregory asked.
Ellen turned a sketch toward us.
The proposed structure was small.
Two bedrooms.
A porch.
A little kitchen.
Nothing extravagant.
“Robert considered building it as a year-round rental or guest cottage,” Ellen said. “The regulations were complicated, and he never finalized anything. But his larger idea was to create income from the property without selling the main house.”
“For me?”
“For both of you initially.”
She looked at me.
“Later, after his diagnosis, he asked me to keep the information in case you wanted choices.”
Gregory looked down.
I had known Robert worried about me after he became ill.
