Therese knew exactly where Tim was going, and she didn’t care because right now all she could think about was the question. The one that tormented her when she was alone, when it was dark and quiet and the world was asleep. The one that came to her sometimes when she dropped Matilda off at school and more often when she heard her quiet snores coming from the bedroom. The question for which she could never find a true answer and the one that she repeated almost every night before she fell asleep.

Will she ever forgive me?

Franny

Ididn’t notice it at first.

It was slipped underneath the door and had a shoe print stamped across the middle like a convoluted road map. I picked it up and rubbed off the dirt and then I threw it back down as if holding it too long would burn my fingers. She had been writing to me for weeks, long-winded letters with no punctuation, so that when I finished reading her words, I was breathless. But this letter was different.

This letter was hand delivered.

I sat in front of the television, eating goldfish crackers out of the bag. Silently, I counted each one before chewing. Leah would be home soon. If I could just make it until then everything would be okay.

Four.

Crunch.

Matilda’s note called me from the hallway.

Two.

Crunch.

I should have thrown it in the trash or, better yet, put it in Leah’s magic drawer where all things I didn’t know what to do with went. Everything would be fine once Leah came home. All I needed to do was look at her and then I would know what to do.

Three.

Crunch.

But that letter kept calling. I put the goldfish crackers back in the cabinet and started talking out loud. Letters jumbled with thoughts and then I started thinking about my mother and my sister and before I could think anything else, I was in the hallway, ripping open the envelope.

“MEET ME AT THE MAILBOX AT 4—M.”

Had she finally made good on her promise to come back for me? I didn’t know what I would say when I saw her. I don’t know why, but I put on the brass-colored key that Leah had given me. The one I wore around my neck to remind me of where I belonged. I folded the letter and slipped it into my pocket. Then I went outside.

The sky was so gray, it made the air feel dirty. The mailbox was a few feet from the edge of the sidewalk and people walked by stuffing mail into its mouth. It made an angry creaking noise that reminded me of a dungeon door every time it opened. I was thinking about all those letters buried deep at the bottom of the box so I wasn’t focusing on the hand that suddenly reached out to grab me.