I had nodded and rushed out after Mom. I wasn�t going to let anyone see me cry.

Now, standing in the bathroom doorway, I threw down the blouse onto the tiled floor and returned to the living room.

�Look, I just came to get whatever Dad left me,� I said to Linda, who had begun drying invisible tears as I approached. �You don�t have to impress me with all these flowers, these sympathy cards, and dressing like it�s still his funeral two weeks after the day.�

She stared, opened her mouth, but closed it again. Her eyes flitted around the living room. I tried to follow them. I wanted to see what Dad had left me. Linda got up, left the room, and returned with a checkbook and a pen. She smiled.

�Your dad told me to write you a two hundred dollar check,� she said. �College students always appreciate money, don�t they?�

Two hundred dollars. Dad had more than that.

Linda handed me the check. Just as I was about to take it, I realized something.

�But Dad�s lawyer said Dad told you where to find whatever he left me in this apartment. If he left me two hundred dollars, the check should already be signed. By him,� I said.

�Dan, I know two hundred dollars isn�t much, but please take it,� Linda said.

She was trying to cheat me out of my real inheritance.

�No. I want what he left me.�

�He said it�s all the way in the back of the front hall closet,� she murmured.

We walked to the closet together. Linda opened it, bent down and searched around on its floor. She tossed out a moth-eaten scarf, two mismatched slippers and the wire frame of an umbrella. Clunk. Something had been shoved in the rear.

�Are you sure you wouldn�t rather have the check?� Linda asked.

I nodded. She rose and pulled something out with her.

It was the green suitcase. I rubbed my finger against its metal trim. What could be inside? Linda stood back. I unlatched the two metal clasps, and lifted the suitcase lid.

The suitcase was empty, except for a piece of yellow notepaper which had been folded into quarters.

I handed her the paper to read. She shook her head.

�Please,� I said.

�Davey,� Linda read out loud, �maybe this will come in handy someday. Dad.�

I looked down at the suitcase. I knelt down. I squinted at it. There was nothing else in it. That was all he had left me, a suitcase? The suitcase?

Linda didn�t meet my eyes.

�I�m sorry your dad was such a bastard,� she said.

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