“It must be the time capsule,” my sister said, following me. “I heard her talking to Mia about it once when they were in your room and they didn’t know I was in mine. Colette said she was going to surprise us.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” I asked, putting my hands up in exasperation.

“I didn’t know it was here,” she said. “How did I know she put a time capsule on a deer bridge in Wyoming?”

That was Frankie, always collecting pieces of things, but not necessarily putting them together until she needed to.

“What?” she asked. “Stop staring at me.”

I shook my head and focused on the rock. I bent down and struggled to move it: it was really heavy, which was probably why it hadn’t budged in a year. I wondered if it’d already been up here, or if Colette had found it in the field and carried it up. She hadn’t had great upper body strength.

I laughed quietly.

“Are you thinking of her trying to carry this thing?” Frankie asked, reading my mind.

I laughed harder, nodding. “Yeah.”

She laughed, too, then bent down and helped me shove the rock to the side. Underneath was an envelope with plastic wrap taped to the outside.

“I wouldn’t call that a time capsule,” Frankie said, scratching her head, then blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “It should be a box.”

“Are you seriously correcting our dead best friend?” I asked.

“I’m just saying.” She shrugged.

Frankie and I both sat down on the ground. I hoped no antelope would suddenly need to cross the street right now—or moose. Weren’t they mean? I didn’t know, but I looked around just to make sure I couldn’t see any herds coming. The fields were clear.

“Rip it,” Frankie bossed.

“I’m trying,” I said, pulling at the plastic. “She must have used a whole roll of that really strong kind of tape.”

Cars zoomed below us, making my ears vibrate as they went by. Finally, I got the package open.

Frankie leaned close, peering in. “What is it?”

“Looks like . . .” I felt inside, pulling out two sheets of paper with our names on them. “Letters.”

“Letters?” Frankie asked, disappointed. “That’s not a time capsule! That’s just . . . mail!”

I felt like I could hear Colette laughing with me. I realized that there was something comforting in how Frankie still treated Colette after her death just like she’d treated her when she was alive.

Frankie took her letter and stood up. “This is boring. Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to read it?” I asked, surprised.