Mark kept his eyes on the road. “It’s their money.”
“I know.”
“They can leave it to whoever they want.”
“I know that too.”
He glanced at me. “You agreeing with me this much is making me nervous.”
I almost smiled.
“Mark, I’m not asking whether they have the legal right to do it.”
He knew what I meant.
For a while, there was only the sound of the tires and the clicking turn signal as he changed lanes.
Finally he said, “The money isn’t what bothered me.”
“What did?”
He gave a tired little laugh. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
We left it there.
The next morning, I woke and reached across the bed.
Mark’s side was empty.
The clock read 6:12.
I found him downstairs at the kitchen table with coffee and his laptop.
“You’re either working ridiculously early,” I said, opening the refrigerator, “or shopping for something you don’t want me to see.”
