“I know what I’m looking for, Randa. I just don’t know what I’m looking for.”

She rolls her eyes, obviously wishing she’d locked up before I got there. I try to think like my mom. She doesn’t do anything random. It’s all connected in one way or the other.

“Do you have the book The People Could Fly?” I ask.

“We ran out of that one. But we do have sweatshirts that have the cover on it,” Randa says, pointing to the corner of the store.

There are about a dozen sweatshirts on the rack with the folklore book cover; it’s the same cover as the box I have. All of them are about three times my size. I look inside the shirts, and there’s nothing in the pockets. I look at the base of the rack; also nothing. There’s no clue as to where the last key could be.

“Do you have any sweatshirts that are my size?” I ask, growing desperate.

She thinks for a moment and then says, “We had one, but we sold it to a sista wearing a pretty head wrap.”

I bet it was Kizzy. She’s helped my mom with past scavenger hunts. She always sports her signature Kente cloth head wraps.

“It was odd. She bought the sweatshirt, put something in the pocket, and then asked us to hold on to it and said that someone else would come to pick it up. We offered to ship it, but she said no and muttered something about tradition,” Randa says.

I smile to myself. “Can I see it? I think it’s for me.”

“Really? Okay, I’ll check. The person who bought it left the name of the girl who is supposed to come get it.” She goes behind the counter, bends down, and comes back up with a white bag. She looks inside and sees a receipt. She holds the slip of paper close to her and says, “I need your name before I can give this to you.”

“Ayomide.”

“Yeah, that’s you. Here you go.”

She hands me the bag, and I take out the sweatshirt. I quickly put it on and reach inside the pockets. One is empty, but the other isn’t.

While Randa continues her closing routine, I walk off into the corner. The envelope holds the final key and the last journal entry. I kiss the key and open the letter . . .

March 24, 2004

Dear J.J.,

Akin is back from Nigeria today, and I couldn’t wait to show him what’s inside the yellow envelope. I cleaned up the apartment, got dressed, and took deep breaths to steady my nerves. I was thrilled he was able to go back to the place of his parents’ birth. He wanted to visit for some time, but life always had other plans.