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Show 15 "Why do you want to know now?" he had asked. "We're writing our wills," they had answered. "We thought you might like to have some say in what you get." "Now?" "No, not now. We'll let you know when the time comes. Plan to come and spend the summer." Annis finds the letters; she takes them out, rereads them, and considers whether she has satisfied their requests. She cannot bear the thought of one's own children, stooping to squabble among the untidy bits of one's own leavings: no, it would not be so, and she would see that all the little whims--"I want the antique desk!" "I want the silver grapefruit spoons!" "You be the one to take the car!"--were satisfied well in advance. It would be so easy, that way, so pleasant, so fully maternal. She puts the letters back in their jackets, opens the upper drawer of the desk. There is almost nothing in the drawer now: the title to the car, an old copy of their will, a packet of insurance policies. Taped to the bottom of the drawer is a short but growing list: discontinue milkman utilities check insurance cancel newspaper close accounts at bank It is like going on a trip, Annis thinks; you always have to remember to find someone to feed the cat. But this trip she will forget nothing. She will see Collings, the lawyer, |