Then we found the ocean trip.
The envelope was thick and labeled in red marker: NOT CANCELED.
My hand stopped above it.
“Mom?” Elise asked.
I shook my head once, though I was not answering anything.
Inside were the brochures Randall used to leave across our kitchen table for months before my diagnosis. Islands, ports, white railings over impossible blue water. He had circled cabin types. I had written TOO EXPENSIVE beside one suite in purple ink.
Under the brochures were receipts.
At first I thought they were refunds.
Then I noticed the dates.
Some were months after Randall left.
Deposits.
Reservation modifications.
Travel insurance.
My name.
Only my name.
I read the first page twice and still could not understand it.
“He booked something,” Elise said.
Wade’s expression closed immediately.
I looked at him. “Do not tell me we have to wait.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“What is this?”
