I hadn’t opened it.
“Anticipated what?”
“She knew Marcus would come the moment he heard. She prepared for it. That’s what I was trying to tell you when he walked up. Please. Just open it.”
I hung up and stared at the zipper for a long time.
Then I pulled it open.
Inside, there was no money, jewelry, house deeds, safes, or anything I’d braced myself for.
“Anticipated what?”
There were letters. Hundreds of them. Yellowed, brittle at the corners, tied with faded ribbon. Some were dated 1972. Some were dated last spring.
There was a small photograph, cracked along one edge, of a young woman holding a baby.
And on top of everything was a sealed envelope. My name was written across the front in Gloria’s shaky handwriting.
I sat there for a long time before I reached for it because somewhere inside me, I already knew that whatever was in that envelope would change everything.
