Free Act of God by Jill Ciment

open field or the ocean’s edge—hers was arocky cliff—anyplace where there might be a promise of something out there, where one might confuse absence with presence.
    He handed Kat the envelope.
    “Do I read it now?”
    “It’s up to you. Would you like your privacy?”
    “Yes, thank you.”
    She didn’t immediately tear it open. She borrowed a silver letter opener from his desk so that she would do as little damage to the envelope as possible. Edith wouldn’t be sending her another.
My Dear Sister Kat,
If you’re reading this, I’m gone. I know you’re grieving, but you’ll be fine. You are a survivor. I have an important favor to ask. Please go in person to tell Alice Flom of my death. Go as soon as you can. I want you to tell her, not Stanley or anyone else. Please, Kat, I’m counting on you.
    With All My Love,
    Edie
    Who was Alice Flom? Kat didn’t remember Edith mentioning her. Alice had the same last name as Stanley. Was she his wife? The letter had no date, just the address of a nursing home in Westchester.
    Stanley returned with Janice, who carried a pot of tea and two cups. He sat beside Kat, on the client side of the desk, in the second armchair. Why did Edith trust him as her executor yet not trust him to tell his wife of her death? Was he Edith’s secret lover all these years? Was Alice her friend or rival?
    “You haven’t asked about the will,” Stanley said.
    Kat already knew what the will said. Edith had told her numerous times. She’d set up a trust for Kat, with an undisclosed sum, to begin payments on her sixty-fifth birthday. Even in death, Edith wanted to make sure Kat ate in old age.
    As long as Edith’s story was still evolving, she was alive for Kat. Outside the offices of Price, Bloodworth, Kat hailed a taxi. She gave the cabbie the nursing home address in Westchester, twenty miles north, an hour-and-a-half slog on the flooded expressway.
    The cab pulled up to a bleak brick building on sumptuous grounds, as if a prison had been built in heaven. The Filipina nurse at the front desk said visiting hours were over, but when Kat told her about Edith’s last request, she pointed Kat down the hall. “Third door on your right.”
    Alice didn’t see Kat at first. She sat on a reclining chair, wearing a nightgown. She must have been ravishing when she was younger, but now, her facial skin looked as if it had been pinched and pinned up on her prominent cheekbones, like a pleated skirt. Her eyes, wet black river stones, appeared to be rapt in bliss, or captivated by nothing. But when she noticed Kat standing in her door, the vacant stare filled with suspicious bewilderment.
    “Who are you?”
    “Kat. I’m Edith’s sister.”
    “Who’s Edith?”
    “You don’t know?”
    “Maybe I know, and maybe I don’t, but I’ll only tell if you promise to take me home with you.”
    “Where do you think my home is?”
    “You live with your mother.”
    So she did know who Edith was after all. Alice’s blackeyes—still wary, still befuddled—flooded with tears. Why would she cry for her rival? Maybe they were lovers? Was Edith gay? Wouldn’t Kat have known, at least suspected? Why wouldn’t Edith have told her? Kat walked toward Alice, who cringed like Kat meant to beat her. She sat down on the bed’s edge and slowly offered Alice her hand. Alice took it in both of hers and examined Kat’s palm, front and back, as if it were a gift box and Alice was supposed to guess what was inside. Kat intended to carry out Edith’s last request even if poor Alice didn’t understand. Edith was counting on her.
    “Edith isn’t with us anymore.”
    “Who’s Edith?”

The play was supposed to have begun twenty minutes ago, but the inexhaustible rain, a constant for five days, wouldn’t quit, though it had subsided enough to give false hope that it might abate long enough to have at least one performance. The expectant audience, despite a canopy of umbrellas, was now wet and shivering.
    Costumed and