On the drive, a memory surfaced.
Eight months before he died.
We were washing dishes when he asked:
“How would you feel about taking guardianship of a child someday?”
I laughed.
“Out of nowhere? Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “We never had kids. Maybe we could help someone.”
“I’d like that,” I told him. “If we did, I’d want to give a kid stability. Not just charity.”
He had looked at me differently then.
Proud.
Relieved.
Then he changed the subject.
At the lawyer’s office, Mr. Collins confirmed everything.
The documents.
The guardianship.
The education fund.
