I pulled my phone from my bag and scrolled to Claire Bennett’s number.
She answered on the second ring.
“Claire,” I said. My voice was steadier than I expected. “You called me last week. You said you wanted to tell Henry’s story.”
There was a pause on the line.
“Yes. I did.”
“It is. It was always going to be.”
Something in the way she said it made me sit up straighter.
“I’ll come to you,” I said. “Six o’clock. I’ll bring Henry’s records. He kept everything in the study. I have the key.”
“I’ll send a car for you. And Eleanor, I’d like to send a small crew by the house separately in the morning for exterior shots. If the curtains are open, they’ll film only what can be seen from the sidewalk. They won’t knock. They won’t disturb anyone.”
Claire hesitated.
“Eleanor… if we tell this story, people will see everything.”
I looked toward the kitchen where Jason and Melissa were laughing downstairs.
For forty years, I had protected them from every consequence.
“Then don’t hide anything,” I said quietly. “Show them exactly what Henry wanted people to see.”
Claire was quiet for a moment.
“Eleanor… your husband came to see me a few months ago.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Henry?”
“He asked me to wait until you called me.”
“What did he want?”
I stared at the rain.
“Six o’clock,” I whispered.
“I’ll be there.”
I hung up and stared at the flannel shirt in my lap.
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