“You have thirty minutes to remove your personal belongings from my house. If you are not out by then, the officers will arrest you for trespassing. And Kevin?”
He looked up, tears of self-pity in his eyes.
“Leave the scotch,” she said. “That was your father’s. You didn’t earn that either.”
The next thirty minutes were a blur of frantic packing and humiliation. Under the watchful eyes of the police, Kevin and Jessica stuffed their clothes into garbage bags. They didn’t speak. The victory lap had turned into a walk of shame.
Kevin tried to say something at the door, perhaps a plea, perhaps an apology, but Martha simply closed the heavy oak door in his face.
The sound of the latch clicking shut was the loudest sound in the world.
Mr. Henderson packed his briefcase. “You did the right thing, Martha. Arthur would be proud.”
“Thank you, Robert,” she said. “Thank you for keeping the secret.”
The lawyer left. The police left.
Martha was alone.
The house was quiet. The smell of Kevin’s cheap cologne and the tension of the confrontation began to fade, replaced by the familiar scent of old wood and memories.
Martha walked to the fireplace mantel. She picked up the framed photograph of Arthur. He was smiling, that knowing, half-smile he always had when he had fixed a problem before it even started.
She traced his face with her thumb.
