Richie and I exchanged a look.
“Maybe later,” I said. “Let’s just get through the day first.”
The rest of the day crawled.
I tied my shoes, braided my hair, wiped jam off faces, then reread the letter so many times my thumb left a smudge on the ink.
Every time I folded it, my stomach turned.
Richie and I exchanged a look.
That evening, as the girls watched TV and Richie made spaghetti, I stood by the window, staring at the apple tree’s twisted branches.
Richie came up behind me, arms around my waist.
“If you want, Tanya, I’ll be there. You don’t have to do anything alone.”
I leaned back into him. “I just need to know, Rich. He was always so kind. He always left an envelope of cash during Christmas, just so that we could spoil the girls with candy.”
“You don’t have to do anything alone.”
