“You should go.”
I scoffed. “Why? So they can stare at the bankrupt millionaire while pretending not to?”
She kept drying dishes. “You’re acting like a man rehearsing his own funeral.”
The next evening, Rosa repaired one of my old gray suits until it almost looked respectable. I drove across Miami in an aging sedan that rattled at every red light.
When I arrived at Harold’s house, the porch lights were off.
A folded note sat beneath the front door.
Edward,
Family emergency. Had to leave unexpectedly. I’ll call you later.
Sorry.
I read it twice.
There was no emergency.
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