Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“And they were twenty good years,” I said, setting the coffee pot down between us. “But the memories are anchored to the ground here. It is time for me to live in the light, Martha.”
“Where will you go?” she asked.
“Somewhere where the damp does not get into my joints,” I said, reaching out to touch her hand. “Somewhere Gordon wanted me to be.”
“The villa,” Martha said, a small smile breaking across her face.
I nodded, feeling a quiet weight lift from my chest.
“Frank is waiting for me at eleven,” I said. “We have to sign the final papers.”
Martha picked up her cloth again, her movements swifter now, as if she wanted to finish the work before the day moved on. We polished in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the soft friction of cotton against silver.
The brass letters on Frank Higgins’ door were polished to a mirror finish, reflecting the long, quiet hallway of the law firm. I walked in at exactly eleven o’clock, my handbag tucked under my arm. Frank stood up from behind his massive oak desk, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses as he pointed to the leather chair opposite him.
