” Brian asked, his voice flat
“What is that?” Brian asked, his voice flat.
“Just a scrap behind the mirror,” I said, slipping it into my pocket before he could step closer.
He looked at his watch once more, then turned toward the stairs without another word.
I waited until his slow, heavy footsteps faded on the wooden steps before I pulled the paper back out. My fingers felt stiff as I unfolded the first crease.
The writing inside was definitely hers, written in her neat, rounded print, but the ink was slightly faded. I read the first three lines, and my breath went quiet in the empty bedroom.
She had hidden it there, tucked away behind the mahogany jewelry box while the dust settled over our lives. I could hear the hum of the heavy black fan in the hallway, its steady rhythm matching the slow beat of my own chest.
The note was short, but every word felt like a small, sharp stone. She had written it on a Tuesday, the week before she went into the hospital for the last time.
The kitchen clock was ticking loud and steady when I finally went downstairs at nine. Brian was standing by the counter, pouring black coffee from the glass pot into two heavy ceramic mugs.
The kitchen smelled of fresh floor wax and coffee, a combination that always reminded me of Saturday mornings before the house grew so quiet. I sat at the laminate table and laid the blue note between our cups.
“She hid it behind my jewelry box,” I said.
Brian set the coffee pot down with a hard, metallic clink. He did not look at the paper, keeping his eyes on the steam rising from his mug.
“We do not need to go digging up things that are already settled, Evelyn,” he said.
Author
Andrew Collins
“It is not settled,” I said, pointing to the rounded blue ink. “She wrote this before she went into the hospital, you see.”
He picked up his mug, but his hand stayed hovering over the table, his knuckles white.
“The graduation is at ten o’clock,” I said.
“We talked about this,” Brian said, his voice dropping. “We agreed we were staying home where it is quiet.”
“I want you to come with me,” I said.
He shook his head slowly, looking out the kitchen window at the gravel driveway.
“We need to sand down the rough edges of this thing before we go jumping into a crowd of people,” he said, using his thumb to trace the grain of the wooden table.
“I need to do this for her, Brian, even if I have to walk in there alone,” I said.
He set his cup down, the dark liquid sloshing over the brim, and walked out to the back porch without looking back.
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Author
Andrew Collins
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