My Wealthy Grandmother Left Me a Single Brass Key and No Inheritance
Linda was standing by the stove in the kitchen when I walked in, her back to me as she watched a small copper kettle. She wore her usual grey dress, her hands smoothing the front of her white apron in a rhythmic, mechanical gesture that I had seen a thousand times.
“I have made some tea, Emily,” Linda said, turning slowly. “It is chamomile. You should have some before the drive.”
“I do not want your tea, Linda,” I said, setting my suitcase down by the kitchen door with a dull thud.
“You have a long drive ahead of you,” Linda said, her voice slow and steady. She reached for a yellow ceramic mug on the counter and poured the hot water over the tea leaves, the herbal steam rising into the cool air of the kitchen. “You need something warm.”
“I said no,” I said, clearing my throat. “I am leaving Oakhaven, and I am not taking anything from this kitchen.”
“You are angry,” Linda said, setting the mug down. “I understand that.”
