At My Grandmother’s Will Reading I Got a Rusty Key While Everyone Else Took Everything Else

”

I looked at this man in my grandmother’s chair, his hands on her armrests, his feet on her floor.

“There’s nothing in that box that’s yours,” I said.

We had dinner. It was strained. My parents asked questions I deflected, and I asked questions they pretended not to hear. When they left, I stood on the porch and watched their taillights fade. Then I continue reading …