buckled.
The sheriff caught my elbow before I could fall. “Whoa. Easy. You all right?”
“I, I don’t understand,” I gasped. I couldn’t get enough air. “How is this… how could she…”
He steadied me until I found my footing, then nodded toward the manila envelope trembling in my hands.
“I think the answer’s probably in there,” he said quietly. “Let’s open it.”
My fingers wouldn’t work properly. I tore at the flap clumsily until it finally gave.
Papers slid out into my hands. Legal forms, crisp and official. A copy of my deed, with a satisfaction of mortgage stapled to the front. A receipt from the bank with a date and a time from yesterday afternoon, only a couple of hours after I had finished mowing.
And, folded neatly in half, a single sheet of cream stationery with my name written across the outside.
I tried to read it.
I really did. But my eyes had filled so completely with tears that the words swam and blurred into nothing.
I held the note out toward the sheriff.
“May I?” he asked gently.
I nodded, lips pressed together so hard they hurt.
He unfolded the paper carefully, like it might crumble. Then he took off his hat again, tucked it under his arm, and turned slightly toward me, lowering his voice so the neighbors couldn’t hear.
“I’m not usually the one who does this kind of thing,” he said, almost apologetically.
Then he cleared his throat and began to read.
“Ariel,
After you told me about the bank, I kept thinking about it while you finished my lawn. Then, when you’d gone home, I noticed one of your letters had slipped out of the stack you left on my railing. I know I shouldn’t have read it. But when I
