with an old rubber band.
Every envelope was addressed to me.
I sank onto the floor.
There were birthday cards marked:
ONE
TWO
THREE
There were Christmas cards.
Letters.
All in Vanessa’s handwriting.
All unopened.
My hands shook as I picked one up.
The seal was still intact.
“She kept them.”
No one answered.
What could anyone say?
June carefully opened one.
Her eyes moved across the page.
Then her face changed.
“She asked if I still had the birthmark beside my ear.”
Claire opened another.
“She asked if I still curled my toes when I slept.”
Small details.
Things Vanessa had known from those brief hours in the hospital.
Things no stranger could have invented.
Tommy sat down against an old trunk.
His face had gone pale.
“I remember Mom talking about Vanessa.”
I looked at him.
“What did she say?”
He hesitated.
“Tommy.”
“She thought you and the
