Wendy Sanger shuffled into the kitchen and stared at the three large boxes from David’s office in Hartford that two of his colleagues had driven down last Wednesday. His files, mementos, and tchotchkes that he’d kept in his office. Personal mail. They’d been sitting in the corner of the family room since then. She hadn’t had the heart to go through them. Not just yet. She knew she should move them out of sight and into the basement, but it felt like burying him all over again.
She poured herself a cup of coffee.
The two weeks since her husband had been killed were like a blur to Wendy. One day they were getting ready to drive to Vermont and David was prepping for an important case. A week later she was faced with confronting the rest of her life alone. Her sister had left the day before, having to return home to New Hampshire, where her husband taught at Dartmouth and she had two kids of her own. When all the attention died down, the house was eerily quiet. Now there was just the long, dimensionless expanse of time that loomed in front of her, somehow learning to think of David in the past. She didn’t know how she was going to handle it. Not to mention Ethan, who didn’t understand much of what was going on.
Or Haley.
Her daughter had been so angry since it happened. Wendy couldn’t blame her. David had always been her “guy,” a role Wendy could never fill. Imagine being jealous of your own daughter.
She had been hanging out with friends after school, not coming home until after dark, no matter how much Wendy scolded her. Things don’t change, Haley, just because of what’s happened. Not doing her homework, staying in her room by herself and playing music, saying she had eaten and not coming down to dinner.
It was just a phase, Wendy knew. Haley was always the closest to David. She had leaned on him a lot, in a way Wendy could not compete with. She knew her daughter always thought of her as weak, strict, always getting flustered over the littlest things. Always putting Ethan’s well-being before hers.
Now who was going to be there for her?
Not to mention the financial situation. Wendy had always managed the bills. David was one of the smartest people she knew, but he didn’t know an adjustable rate mortgage from the prime. They didn’t have a lot of money. David was a government lawyer. He barely pulled in ninety grand. The house took most of it, living where they did, and now they were in contract on this new place. There was the insurance; her dad could chip in for a while. But it wasn’t much.
If he’d just gone into private practice like so many of his friends, he’d have been worth ten times as much by now…
“Balloon!” She heard a shout from the TV room. Ethan. He had stayed home from school today. “Mommy, look, balloon.”
“Yes, Ethan…,” Wendy called wearily. He was watching a recording they had made of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. He loved it. The colors, the floats. He was having a difficult time figuring out what was happening, why his father was gone. Death was a state his six-year-old, handicapped mind was having a hard time comprehending. “Daddy’s on a trip,” he said. “He’s coming home soon?”
“No, honey, no he’s not,” she said.
She took another sip of coffee. You’re gonna get through this. She sighed.
She felt so overwhelmed. She looked at the boxes.
Oh, David, how could you leave me alone…?
Empty, needing to feel close, Wendy stepped over to the cartons against the wall and sat down, pulling open the top of the box closest to her. She took out a photo. The four of them kneeling around a giant sea turtle they had come upon in Hawaii. It almost made her cry. Wendy remembered how she had given it to David on their anniversary.
Wendy buried her face in her hands. Would she ever have moments like that again? She reached back inside.
She pulled out a large, stuffed envelope. From Michelle, David’s secretary up there, marked RECENT MAIL. Wendy unfastened it and slid out the contents.
Letters. Bills. Bundled with rubber bands. Some legal documents, publications he received at the office.
David’s things.
She dropped the bundle on her lap. It was too overwhelming. She bunched her lips, fighting back tears. She just wasn’t ready to do this…
Ethan yelled, “Mommy, Mommy, look, Kermit!”
“Yes, Ethan, Kermit!” she heard herself yell. Crossly. She wiped her eyes, knowing that she shouldn’t take it out on him. “I’m coming,” she called back, stuffing the mail back in the envelope. “Mommy’s coming.”
Something caught her eye. She pulled it out of the pile.
An envelope from Bank of America. In Hartford.
The envelope read, STATEMENT ENCLOSED.
They didn’t have an account with Bank of America.
All their banking was through Fieldpoint in Greenwich. She pretty much managed everything. David had never spoken to her about another account up there.
That didn’t make sense.
She slit it open, thinking maybe he had something put aside for the kids through work. An IRA. That would be just like him, Wendy thought. Not ever mentioning it.
She took another sip of coffee and unfolded the statement. The account was made out to David Sanger. Not in trust. No Minors Act. Wendy put the coffee down. Her eye scrolled to the balance.
She froze.
There was $427,000 in it.