Chapter 8: The Box

My mother's letter was one page, written in pencil because the hospice would not let her keep a pen.

If Corbin has already offered to handle the money, please say no.

I'm sorry to start with that, Keeley. I wanted to start with I love you, and I do.

But he asked me twice about the will while I was sick, and he asked politely, and I did not like how politely.

The money from the house is yours. It is in an account at the credit union on Brown Street, in your name alone.

Don't move it for anyone.

Call your cousin Alana when you feel up to it. She sat with me on Tuesdays and never told anyone.

I love you more than I could ever put on a page.

Mom.

I read it twice and put it face down on the table.

My hands were steady.

I didn't understand why they were steady, and then I did.

The worst part was already over.

I had been ready to hear her say goodbye, and instead she had told me what to do, and I had not done it.

I turned the lid back and lifted out what was under it.

Forty-one envelopes in a rubber band, all addressed to me in my grandmother's neat blue hand, all unopened.

Under them were nine more, in a different hand.

Alana's.

Each was stamped and sealed, and none had a postmark.

At the bottom of the box was a small gray flip phone with a cord wound around it.

I held it.

"What is that?" said Nolan.

He was standing in the kitchen doorway with the porch light behind him and his coat unzipped.

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