Every day at 2 p.m., I watched Mrs. Gable stare at her mailbox.
I watched Leo check the mailbox for her after school.
One day, I watched his face light up as he pulled out an envelope. He hurried up to Mrs. Gable’s front door.
My heart raced as I watched her open the door and take the letter. She read it, then she held it against her chest and closed her eyes.
The letters kept coming after that. For three months, that mailbox was Mrs. Gable’s whole world, her connection to the man she’d never stopped loving.
Then, one day, the porch was empty.
She held it against her chest.
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Mrs. Gable had passed quietly in her sleep.
That night, Leo sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.
The next morning, he grabbed his jacket.
“I’m going to check the mailbox,” he said.
My heart broke all over again. “Leo…”
“Just in case,” he whispered.
And that was when we found the package.
Mrs. Gable had passed quietly in her sleep.
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I read the document from the package again, making sure I’d deciphered the legal wording correctly.
“This says that her house is to be sold and half of the proceeds must be placed in trust to pay for your education…” I said. “This is her will, or an addendum to it, at least.”
“But I don’t understand,” Leo said. “She had a son. Why would she leave something this big to me?”
Before I could reply, someone knocked on the door hard enough for the sound to reverberate through the house.
“This is her will, or an addendum to it, at least.”
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Another hard knock boomed down the hall as I approached the front door. I opened it and found a red-faced man standing on my front porch.
He had Mrs. Gable’s nose and her pointed chin.
“What is the meaning of this?” he snapped, holding up a document. “Who is Leo, and what did you people do to her to make my mother put him in her will?”
I was too shocked to speak for a moment as I realized the implications of his words.
Then Leo piped up behind me, “All I did was help her!”
“Helped her?” The man sneered. “You manipulated an old woman so you could benefit from her estate!”
I realized the implications of his words.
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“You DO NOT speak to my son like that! He did nothing but help Mrs. Gable.” I stepped forward and pointed past him. “And get off my porch before I call the police to report that you’re harassing a child.”
That got through to him. He walked away, but turned back once he reached the sidewalk.
“I won’t let you get away with this scam,” he yelled. “I’m contesting the will. Everyone will know that you took advantage of my mother.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw the teen girl next door peek out the front window. Diagonally across the road, Mr. Jones stepped away from washing his car to look over at us.
I retreated inside and shut the door.
