My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
He walked past me and climbed the porch steps, his knock on the oak door loud and rhythmic.
Linda opened it immediately, as if she had been standing right behind the wood waiting for him to arrive.
She did not look at me before she closed the door, leaving me alone on the damp gravel.
The rain did not stop for the funeral on Thursday afternoon.
Three black umbrellas stood near the open grave at the Oakhaven cemetery, our small group looking tiny against the gray stone monuments of the older family plots.
Linda stood four feet away from me, her face hidden beneath the wide brim of a dark hat.
She held her umbrella with both hands, her fingers perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the bronze casket.
Mr. Bennett stood to her right, holding his own umbrella and looking at his gold pocket watch every few minutes.
There were no other relatives, no old friends from the grocery stores, and no neighbors from the brick estate.
“She wanted it simple,” Linda said, her voice carrying clearly over the sound of the falling rain.
