The lid wouldn’t budge the first time she tried to lift it and she had to work the edges longer than she’d expected to free it. She held her breath. It was possible that the money was gone, replaced with something else, or that it had never really been there at all. Was she prepared for anything? It hardly mattered now. She slipped her fingers under the lid and lifted it.
The rows of bills were untouched. In her heart she’d known and expected this. The effect of the knife’s absence she hadn’t. She saw him brushing the earth from the lid before coming to find her that day. Her chest felt tight. He opened the box, and then what? Was it easy for him, or had he laboured over the decision before letting his fingers touch the bone handle? He intended to be back, but later; this much was obvious
