I looked at it. My name was written across the front in June’s handwriting, shakier than I remembered it from her old letters, but unmistakably hers. The G looped the same way it had on the notes she used to slip into my locker.
May you like
He Kept a Promise He Made at Seventeen, Forty-Five Years Too Late. Then Her Son Handed Him the One Secret She Took to Her Grave.
