“Sure. What’s up?”
“I’ll tell you when I arrive.”
Thirty minutes later, my doorbell rang.
“Come in. Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
We sat on the sofa.
“I had to tell you personally. He’s gone.” She looked to the ceiling, then at me. “He loved you deeply.”
“What happened?”
“Said he needed a nap. Never woke up. ‘Natural causes,’ they said. I found him. And this.”
She handed me a cream-colored, wax-sealed, padded envelope.
His handwriting. My name.
That night, I read his note. Smiling, I placed the key in my jewelry box.