CHAPTER 6: The Envelope No One Put in the Program

The paper inside was cream stock, folded once. Adrian's handwriting crossed the top line in black ink, firm at first, then slightly uneven near the end.
Eleanor felt her throat close when she saw it from the pew. She remembered that hand learning letters at the kitchen table, signing his first payroll, leaving birthday notes under her teacup when he traveled.
Reverend Alden read slowly.
'If this letter is being opened in the chapel, it means I did not live long enough to speak in my own house.'
The back rows shifted. Someone whispered a prayer that sounded more like curiosity.
Julian's face lost its theater. Celeste remained still, but her fingers pressed so hard into her clutch that the black satin puckered.
'I ask my mother not to forgive what she does not yet understand,' the reverend continued. 'I ask the board not to accept any document signed during my final three weeks without review. I ask Reverend Alden to read this aloud because private rooms have become too easy to clean.'
Eleanor closed her eyes. There he was. Her son, frightened and precise, still protecting people with sentences.