Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
Once Frank left, the house was quiet again, the hum of the old refrigerator the only sound in the kitchen.
I walked out into the backyard, where the afternoon air was cool and smelled of damp earth and fallen leaves.
Martha Vance was already there, wearing her thick wool shawl over her shoulders, her hands covered in heavy gardening gloves as she worked near the garden path.
“I brought over some winter pansies,” Martha said, pointing to a flat of bright yellow and purple flowers sitting on the grass. “I thought we could get them in the ground before the first frost comes next week.”
“Thank you, Martha,” I said, kneeling on the damp soil beside her.
We worked in silence for a few minutes, our trowels digging into the cool black dirt, turning over the old roots to make room for the new plants.
“I saw Frank’s car leave,” Martha said, her voice soft as she patted the soil down around a purple pansy. “Is it over?”
“Sable signed the agreement,” I said. “She is leaving for Colorado on Friday, and she is not coming back.”
