Ben lay in the high bed, his shoulders propped up by three stiff pillows. He was clutching a yellow legal pad and a folded white document against his chest, his knuckles white.
“My dearest,” Ben said, his voice a gravelly whisper. He reached his right hand out toward me, while his left hand immediately went to his temple, rubbing the skin in small, tight circles.
“I brought the ring, Ben,” I said, sitting on the vinyl chair beside his bed. I set my purse on the overbed table, right next to a silver-plated water pitcher that was sweating in the dry heat.
He tapped the folded white paper against his knee. “We do not have much time, Clara, so we must make this official today.”
