My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
I stood on the porch until the streetlights on the corner of Oakhaven Road hummed to life.
At nine o’clock, I carried the small tray with her evening chamomile tea up to her bedroom.
Margaret was sitting in her bed, her thin shoulders propped up by three down pillows, her silver pocket watch lying open on the bedside table.
I set the tea down next to the watch, noticed the delicate engraving on the silver casing, and then looked directly into her eyes.
“Do you want me here, Grandmother?” I asked, my hand still resting on the edge of the wooden tray.
Margaret did not look at the tea.
“You are here because we made an agreement,” she said, her voice thinner than it had been at noon, though no less sharp.
“I gave up my apartment,” I said. “I gave up my jobs. I am here twenty-four hours a day, cleaning your floors and cooking your meals.”
“You are doing your duty,” she said.
“Is that all this is to you?” I asked. “A business transaction?”
