Chapter 12: The Shoebox

Tanya lived in a yellow house on Orchard Street with a porch swing and a wreath on the door.

I had a key.

She had given it to me when we were twelve, and I had never given it back.

Kurt parked at the curb at seven fifteen.

"Her car's gone," he said.

"She always leaves early on Saturdays."

"Then we have a little time."

I stood at the door for a long moment with the key in my hand.

"Emmeline," Kurt said. "You don't have to go in."

"Yes, I do."

I turned the lock.

The house smelled like vanilla candles and the pastel perfume she wore.

Her kitchen was spotless.

Her photographs ran down the hallway wall, the way they always had.

Tanya at sixteen, Tanya at graduation, Tanya and me at the lake with our arms around each other.

I walked past myself in every frame.

"Which room?" Kurt asked.

"Bedroom closet. She keeps everything there."

It was a narrow closet crammed with winter coats.

On the top shelf, behind a row of sweaters, I found a white shoebox with a rubber band around it.

My hands knew what it was before my eyes did.

I took it down and set it on the bed.

Kurt stood behind me with his hand on my back.

I peeled off the rubber band.

Inside were envelopes.

Dozens of them, in neat stacks, addressed in blocky black pen to Emmeline Gleason and to Maisy Gleason, with a base mailing address in the corner.

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