“Alex, look,” she said, studying his face rather than the envelope. “What is it?”
“It’s from a lawyer,” he said, reading the return address.
Marta was quiet for a moment. “Open it.”
He opened it carefully, working a finger under the seal rather than tearing it, which was a habit from a time when documents had to be preserved and presented and proved. Inside was a single folded document, printed on formal letterhead, with the name Martin Carter, Notarial and Estate Services across the top in a restrained serif font. Alex read the first paragraph. Then he read it again, more slowly, parsing each phrase as though looking for the place where it would reveal itself to be something other than what it appeared to say.
The letter informed them, in the precise and considered language of legal correspondence, that they were the sole living heirs to the estate of Helena Vosková, their maternal grandmother, and that said estate consisted of a residential property situated in the mountain district of Beskydy, described by address and cadastral number, to be transferred to their joint ownership upon their appearance at the property with the attached documentation.
“What property?” Marta asked. She had moved close to read over his arm, close enough that he could feel the warmth from the sleeping bag she was still wearing around herself like a cloak.
Alex looked up from the letter.
“Her house,” he said. “Grandma’s house in the mountains.”
Marta looked at him for a long moment without speaking.
“That can’t be right,” she said finally. Not because she doubted the letter but because her mind, like his, had no practiced path for receiving good news and was arriving at it awkwardly, without the right equipment.
