At the funeral, his three children stood across from me in matching black coats, like a wall. People offered condolences, then drifted toward them. I stood alone beside the casket and cried because I had loved him, and because nobody there believed that I had.
After the final guest left, the lawyer touched my elbow.
“Elena,” he said, “Russell left instructions.”
They had to be delivered face-to-face, with his children present.
“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “My office, nine.”
Then his voice softened.
“He asked me to repeat his last instruction. Trust him.”
