Then the attorney reached into his desk drawer.
“I almost forgot.”
He placed one last envelope on the table.
Across the front, in Thomas’s handwriting, were two words.
“After Tuesday…”
I smiled through my tears.
“He asked me not to give you this until after his funeral.”
I didn’t open it there.
***
That evening I carried the envelope to the little park across from my apartment.
I opened it slowly.
Inside wasn’t a letter.
Just a folded sheet of notebook paper.
I didn’t open it there.
A list.
Botanical Garden
Farmers’ Market
Ice cream from Oakridge Street
Feed the ducks even if they ignore you
I laughed before I realized tears were already rolling down my face.
Feed the ducks even if they ignore you.
At the very bottom he’d written: “Ordinary Tuesdays are where life quietly hides.”
I looked around the park.
Children were chasing pigeons.
Someone walked a sleepy golden retriever.
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