This is the time of year I think about you most, surprisingly. Not at your birthday, not the time of year when you died. This time of year feels like it should be your time because of the colors, because it’s hot and cold both at the same time. Because the whole fucking season is about death, and I think about you when I think about Persephone and her new, dark world away from her mother, away from the sun, in the rocky palace under the earth.

That was what we chose for you, wasn’t it, in the end? I know it wasn’t better for you that way; it wasn’t better for Persephone either. But the earth needed seasons, and Persephone was sacrificed. And you were also sacrificed, for the good of the others, or maybe for the whole world. Who knows? Sometimes that’s how I have to look at it.

But I’m sorry, my love, to digress. Actually, I should get right to it. Things are not looking good, and time is running out. Please come home. Please visit. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I will soon be dead, and then there will not be another chance, unless we meet in the underworld. You should know your family. I want to feel your hands. I’ve stopped punishing myself, and you should, too.

I’m sure someone else can do the work. I’m sure someone else can feed your dog. Leave that behind and come to the island. We all want you.

My love,

Cecily

I felt a shock of emotion, a thundering in my ears. I clutched the letter. I backed slowly out of the room, closed the door behind me.

“Find it?” the girl at the counter asked me. I nodded and slid the key toward her. “Are you okay?” she asked. “You look pale. Did you—did you see something in there?” She nodded sympathetically, but she had no idea.

I walked home in the rain, the letter tucked under my shirt, next to my skin, to keep it dry and safe. In my own room, I stood, wet and dripping, looking around like someone in a dream. T-shirts piled in the rocking chair. Discarded pants on the floor. Lotions and sunscreens. A towel hanging from the door, a bathing suit hooked on the corner of the mirror.