Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“It feels different with her gone,” Martha said, her voice dropping to a warm mutter. “Almost like the house is taking a long, deep breath.”
“It is,” I said, rubbing the tarnished spout until the dark oxidation began to give way to a bright, reflective silver. “But it is still too large for me, Martha. There are too many empty corners.”
“You could fill them,” she said, her chatter starting up again. “We could plant the winter garden. There is the heirloom rosemary to split, and the front beds need mulching before the first real frost.”
I stopped polishing and looked at my own face in the curved silver. The lines around my eyes were deep, but they looked softer now than they had in weeks. My gold wedding band caught the morning light as I turned the pot.
“I am going to list the house,” I said.
Martha stopped her cloth mid stroke. She stared at me, her mouth slightly open, before she slowly set her polishing rag on the counter.
“You have lived here for twenty years, Cassandra,” she whispered.
