When we arrived, Clara wasn’t home, so Grandma Ruth called her from the car. Clara said she was at the store and told her to use the spare key under the flowerpot on the windowsill.
We let ourselves in, and once the door clicked shut behind us, I headed straight for Josh’s old study. Clara had always been strict about keeping us out of that room, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that if Josh had left anything behind, it would be there. Noah followed without a word.
The room still smelled faintly of Josh’s pipe tobacco. I went straight to the bottom drawer of his desk, the one Clara never touched because she said it was “his junk.”
Inside was a wooden box I’d seen as a kid but never opened.
“Eric, look at this.”
Noah pulled out a folder filled with trust documents, our names on every page, and a bank account opened for us with monthly deposits going back to before Josh died.
