Chapter 8: Cedar and Tea

Ezra's apartment took up the top floor of a glass tower over the harbor.

There was almost no furniture.

A long sofa, a table with no chairs, and a wall of windows over the city.

The two men stacked my mother's boxes along the far wall, nodded to me and left.

I sat down on the floor beside them with the cream envelope.

Ezra was somewhere behind me.

I could hear him, a drawer closing, water running, his footsteps on bare wood.

He did not ask me what the envelope was.

He did not come closer.

I opened it.

Her handwriting leaned right and ran fast, the way it always had.

Sadie,

If you are reading this, your father has told you he did it for us. He did it for himself.

Ask to see the paper he signed. Every page, not the one he reads aloud.

Keep the formula. It was never his to sell.

I love you. I am sorry I am not there to say it.

Mom

I read it three times.

Then I put the page against my chest and breathed.

I did not cry.

I had not cried at the funeral either, because my father had been watching.

"Sadie."

Ezra stood a few feet away with a glass of water.

I had not heard him come.

He set it on the floor beside me and crouched, so our faces were level.

"Drink," he said.

I drank.

My hands were shaking, and he watched them until they stopped.

"What did she write?" he asked.

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