Inherited

“That was your choice? “ She said her tone flat. She eyes the overstuffed cartons, thick with dust.
“And the shirt. Why do you say it like that?” I asked.
“It’s not a choice if you don’t pick it.” She rolled her eyes. “It looks like what was left.”
“I did pick it. It just wasn’t what you’d have chosen for me.”
I pulled the flannel shirt closer to my chest, breathing in the piny scent of it. Fresh cut wood. My eyes scanned a hundred spines stamped with titles, everyone of them a door into...
“You could have had the machine gun, or the wood shop’s inventory of tools. Or even the truck. But no. They packed up piles of worthless books, books with ridiculous titles that no one ever saw him read. They handed over tattered flannel button downs and a cheesy kit filled with tarnished brass nibs that no one has used since they invented bic pens. And you want me to believe that you intentionally chose those as your inheritance?”
“We agreed on it years ago. We’d talked about it many times, and he had offered me anything I wanted. It’s what I wanted.” I felt defensive and hoped she didn’t notice. I hoped my thrashing heart could not be heard by her.
“I’ll just take these to the car. Can you help me? They’re a little heavy,” I said.

I prayed that I wasn’t giving away any tells. Mostly I hoped she wouldn’t pull any of the volumes. Inside each volume was 250 pages of minted US bills. Each book a different denomination.