He didn’t stop walking until we were near the exit, away from the music and laughter.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “You missed the ceremony.”
“I almost didn’t come,” he said. “I was told not to.”
“Told by who?”
He lowered his voice. “Mom.”
I stared at him. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m serious,” he said. “A lawyer called me this morning. He knew Mom’s name, her illness, and the date she died.”
My mouth went dry.
“She asked him to contact me if Dad ever remarried,” Benjamin continued. “Specifically if he married Marianne.”
Cold spread through my chest.
He pulled an envelope from his jacket. It was thick, cream-colored, and sealed.
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