Page 24 of Look, Don't Touch

“Yeah. She sent the plant since she couldn’t make it.” Astor slides the cards across the table to me. “The director handed me these when we were leaving.”

I guzzle half the coffee, wishing it were wine, and grab the little one. Matthew’s name is printed on the outside with ink that looks like it was derived from the tears of a ghost. It’s barely visible. I flip open the end and pull out a tiny piece of paper. Printed on it is a standard thoughts-and-prayers condolence with a dash and then Holly’s full name. As though the whole thing was generated from a data entry computer program. It probably was.

“Here.” I shove it back to Astor. She’s closer to Holly than I am, and I know she’ll appreciate it.

The second is a sorry for your loss, thanks for all your money standard card from the cemetery. It’s stamped with a name I can’t decipher. I down the rest of my coffee and contemplate throwing the last card in the trash on the way out, along with the rest.

I can’t stand the empty notions.

“Open it,” Astor urges, as though she can read my mind. When really, it’s my body language giving me away.

“You can if you want.” I slide her the large open card, the other one, and head to the counter for a refill. They’re bustling this morning, now that I actually open my eyes and look around. And I can’t blame them for how fast I shotgunned my drink.

“Here you go, hun.” Bernadette signals me over with a wave of her thick fingers.

I shuffle down the bar and extend my mug to her. She fills it to the brim, knowing I won’t destroy it with sugar or creamer.

“Thank you, B.”

She nods and carries on with three tasks at once.

When my ass hits the booth, Astor stares wide-eyed at the third card with her hand over her mouth.

“What’s wrong?”

Her gaze flits to me, then darts back to the card, and back at me.

“What?” I snatch the thick paper from her hand. “For fuck’s sake. I can’t take any more surprises right now.”

In an instant, I think every horrible thought.

Matt has a long-lost kid.

Matt is wanted in five states for murder.

Matt’s family is suing me for paying for his funeral.

Unlike the other two notes, this one is handwritten. Its ink is dark and rich. The letters slice across the page in a perfectly straight line one row after another in perfect form.

“A donation to The Veterans Residence of Long Island for one million dollars has been made in the name of Matthew Banett.” My voice kind of peters out at the word dollars. My eyes go full fuzzy. The remaining words don’t compute. Hell, the ones I read aloud don’t either.

“Oh my God! Hailey, you didn’t?—”

“Of course, I didn’t.” My mouth hangs open, then snaps closed. It opens again. “If I had a million bucks lying around, I’d pay off the mortgage on my office. No offense to Matt.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t take any offense.”

I shrug one shoulder and blink at the card, reading the words again. Donation. In the name of Matthew. One million dollars.

“Who, then?”

Again, I shrug. There’s no one. Matt had no one except me. And that was limited. Then I remember an earlier conversation.

I’m diving for my clutch and digging out my phone. I hit the number for my last call. It rings and rings.

“Hailey?” My aunt’s voice is small and scared. She’s afraid I’m going to trauma dump on her.

“You said you made a small donation to The Veterans Residence in Matt's name.”

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