The AnniversaryAs Jon was leaving, Pearson approached us. “A delivery, sir.” Past him outside the open doorway, one of Tony’s men held Rocket’s leash as they walked down the front path.
“Write if you need anything,” Jon said, then followed them to his white and silver carriage at the curb.
In the entryway, four burly young men struggled to carry two black and white urns of polished marble, which held houseplants with large dark glossy leaves. The urns and plants were similar to those in the hallway at the chapel where we were married.
A middle-aged, balding man in rumpled overalls stood nearby with a clipboard. “Where do ya want them?”
“In the parlor beside the sofa,” I said, pointing the way.
I said to Pearson, “Who are they from?”
Pearson handed me an envelope holding an embossed c
