“Oh, right. I have something for you.”

Bea dug around in her purse. Purse? I had never seen her with a purse. In fact, I’d never seen her in a dress, wearing hose, half heels, and was that a touch of rouge on her chipmunkesque cheeks?

“I really must be going, Bea.”

“Wait, it’s here somewhere.” She produced a small cream-colored envelope. “It’s from her.”

“Who?

“Mrs. Ashworth.”

“I don’t think she goes by that name.”

“She asked me to call her Mrs. Ashworth. When I asked why, she said, ‘Because Mr. Ashworth is my husband.’ ”

The sealed envelope was blank. There was no stamp on it, no return address.

“She gave it to me to give to you.”

“Wait—she gave it to you? She handed it to you?”

“Why, sure.”

“I thought she was in France.”

“Oh, no. She’s back. She got back the other day.”

I snatched the envelope from Bea’s hand. I wanted to rip it open right there. But that would draw undue attention, so I slipped it into the breast pocket of my brown tweed blazer. I bolted for the exit as she yelled after me, “You’re welcome!”

Outside I walked. I walked with the letter in my pocket. The letter in my pocket was heavy. It was a bullet in midflight. And it was from her. She was back, and she had something to say to me. She’d taken out pen and paper and written something down. With her tongue, she’d licked the envelope. Her spit sealed it. And she’d given it to an unlikely messenger.

I kept walking, waiting for the perfect moment to open it.

Finally, at home, after a rousing game with the boys of Bury Daddy, I ducked into the bathroom, where I closed and locked the door. I sat on the toilet with the lid down. I took the envelope out of the front left pocket of my blue jeans, which was where I had transferred it after changing out of my church suit. I took a deep breath. I tore open the envelope. I carefully read what Anna had written. It didn’t take long. Then I reread it to make sure I hadn’t missed anything. Then I stared at it until her words became blurry, and not because I was crying, but rather, because my hands had begun to shake.

ANNA BRODY

May 9th-11th

KATE

KATE

MANY OF OUR FIRST GRANTS WERE EARMARKED FOR CHARITIES EITHER ST. LOUIS- based or autism-related. This was wise politically. I had other lists for later days: the Quite Possiblys and the Very Much Want to But Not Sure Yets.

Four months into this job, and still my favorite part remained the discovery of a new charity. Every Friday Bruno and I would order in lunch and eat at my desk.

Plopping down in my high-backed swivel chair, Bruno liked to ask, “What’s got your heart this week?”