I’d always thought she did.
“What’s going on? Why did my wife hire you?”
Mr. Geller held out the envelope.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but Irene gave me very specific instructions to deliver this envelope to you only after her death.”
I didn’t take it.
“Why did my wife hire you?”
“What aren’t you saying?”
He hesitated.
Then he said, “Your wife? Sir, you and Irene were never actually married. You didn’t know that? Just open the envelope, and you’ll understand everything.”
For a second, I honestly thought grief had scrambled my hearing.
“What aren’t you saying?”
Irene and I had celebrated 60 years of marriage only months earlier. We’d raised three children and spoiled five grandchildren. I had held her hand when she quietly passed away.
“Give me the envelope.”
“Robert…”
“Give it to me.”
He did.
“Give me the envelope.”
