Maisie looked at Ray.
"Is there?"
Ray folded his arms. "Official answer? Medical supplies and personal items."
"Unofficial answer?"
He glanced toward me.
"Ask your mother."
The children laughed. I should have felt relieved. Instead, Daniel's envelope seemed to grow heavier in my hand. Michael stayed near the far wall.
He had not left, though I could see he wanted to. Every few seconds his eyes moved toward the exit, then back toward me. Ray noticed. So did I.
When Rebecca was satisfied that no immediate adjustment was needed, she gave me a folder containing the supplier paperwork, warranty information, clinical setup notes, service contacts, and an explanation of which components had been covered by insurance and which had been funded by the Iron Harbor Riders foundation.
"Nothing here replaces follow-up," she said. "Maisie still needs the clinic review next month. If anything feels wrong before then, you call. We do not wait because the chair is pretty."
I nodded.
"I understand."
"Good."
Rebecca looked at me with the expression of someone who had been carrying a secret longer than she liked.
"Daniel asked for all of this to be done properly. He was very clear."
I looked toward the chair.
"He usually was."
"About Maisie, yes."
The sentence almost broke me. Ray approached slowly. He held out a small object. The grocery receipt.
Or what remained of it. It had been laminated between two thin clear sheets to protect the fading ink.
BUILD HER SOMETHING THAT MOVES.
"He gave this to me the night he died," Ray said. "The plate on the chair came from this."
I took it. My thumb moved over Daniel's handwriting through the plastic.
"Why didn't you give it to me?"
Ray looked toward Michael.
"I tried."
There it was again. The answer I had been avoiding. I turned to my brother.
"We're talking now."
Michael glanced at Maisie.
"Not in front of her."
Maisie, who had apparently inherited Daniel's ability to understand a room long before adults thought she did, said, "Mommy, I want to show Tyler the secret box." I looked at her. She smiled in a way that was too deliberate for an eight-year-old.
"Go ahead."