the first time since the funeral, I slept in our bedroom.
The next day, Josh stood awkwardly in my kitchen.
“Emma dropped a pencil between the cushions last night,” he explained. “I turned the couch over and noticed the fabric underneath had been sewn shut by hand.”
“Arthur repaired that thing constantly.”
“That’s what I figured. But one seam looked newer.”
He put the parcel on the table.
“Did you know what he was hiding inside?”
I shook my head.
“I opened the wrapping,” Josh admitted. “I read the first
