He had kissed my forehead and said, “Efficient. I can be two things.”
My fingers closed around it.
The metal was cool.
“No.”
Wade did not speak.
I brought the ring closer. The scratch was still there. Inside the band, almost worn smooth, were the initials from our wedding day.
R + M.
“He kept wearing it,” Wade said.
I looked up so fast he stopped.
“I didn’t ask.”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me things because you think they soften this.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
He nodded once.
I placed the ring on the table.
I could not bear its weight in my palm.
Beneath it was an envelope with an embossed county seal. I knew what it was before I opened it.
I opened it anyway.
CERTIFICATE OF DEATH.
Randall’s full name.
Date of birth.
Date of death.
Five months ago.
The cause appeared in clinical language that reduced him to mechanisms. Metastatic pancreatic adenocarcinoma. Hepatic involvement. Respiratory failure.
