Ruth sat down.
Nora turned another page.
A folded sheet slipped from the notebook and landed between them.
Across its top, Daniel had written: When Nora finally stops working.
Nora smiled before she could help herself.
“He made lists for everything.”
She unfolded it.
There was a sketch of the back room with the worktable crossed out. In its place stood two chairs, a low bookshelf, and a small round table.
Beside the window he had written: Best light for her reading.
Beside the second chair: Ruth will say she can’t stay. Make tea anyway.
Ruth put a hand over her mouth.
Nora stared at the words.
Beneath the sketch was a note.
Ask Ruth about the blue fabric. She knows which one Nora liked.
“The fabric,” Nora said.
Ruth’s eyes shone.
“We were going to recover your mother’s chairs. He asked me to help choose.”
“You never told me.”
“He wanted it to be a surprise.”
Nora traced the line Daniel had drawn for the window.
She remembered him measuring that room, remembered asking whether he was building another set of shelves.
He had told her he was making space.
She had thought he meant for tools.
Ruth reached across the table.
“He didn’t save all that money because he wanted you to be afraid to use it.”
Nora let out a breath that broke halfway through.
“I thought keeping everything exactly as it was meant I was taking care of him.”
Ruth touched the notebook.
“He seems to have left different instructions.”
Nora laughed.
