The sun shone on my face as I made my way up the stairs to the old stone office building downtown, so I peeled off the cardigan I had thrown on over my cotton dress. I was grateful that our lawyer had made an exception for me and agreed to meet on a Saturday. I was eager to dispense with this formality—the reading of my mother’s will—and get on to the next phase of things. I sat across the enormous wooden desk from Bob Robinson, who had handled my family’s affairs for as long as I could remember. “The reception was nice,” he said as he assembled the paperwork. “Adele would’ve loved it.” “Thank you.” I nodded, twisting my cardigan in my lap. As he looked up at me over his bifocals, he held my gaze a bit longer than I would’ve liked, a stern expression on his face. I got the feeling he was getting ready to tell me something unexpected and strange, and it made my stomach do a quick flip. He cleared his throat. “First things first,” he began, handing me checks my mother had designated for Jane, Mr.
