Seven Checks Left Untouched in a Cedar Desk Drawer

“He cannot afford the Oakhaven Inn,” I said.

“He insisted,” Arthur said, returning to his ledger. “He wants no charity from this house.”

I looked at the blue ink on my father’s legal pad, the letters neat and sharp.

“Did you offer him something else, Dad?” I asked.

Arthur did not look up from his work, his fingers tightening on the barrel of the pen.

“My business affairs are designed to protect this family, not to be scrutinized by you,” he said.

I stood up from the table, the chair scraping loud against the oak floorboards.

Margaret began sorting the linen swatches by shade, her head bowed.

I walked down the hallway to the kitchen, where the kettle was beginning to whistle on the stove.

Rosie was sitting at the breakfast table, her left hand stretched out in front of her to catch the afternoon light on the gold band.

“Look, Cathy,” she said, tapping the metal with her fingernail. “It shines, it shines.”

I poured the hot water into two ceramic mugs, the steam rising between us.

“It is very beautiful, Rosie,” I said, sitting opposite her.

I reached out and touched the edge of her sleeve, waiting until she looked up from the ring.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked. “About marrying Ben?”

Rosie clapped her hands against her cheeks, her smile wide and unbothered.

“I have never been more sure of anything in my life,” she said. “In my life.”

“He has been spending a lot of time with Dad lately,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Did they talk to you about the wedding?”

Rosie shook her head, her fingers tracing the edge of her saucer.

“Ben says we will have a yellow house,” she said. “With a big garden for the tomatoes.”

“We already have a garden here,” I said.