The jeans and shirt she finally put on weren’t nearly warm enough. Kelsey hesitated a minute, staring into the closet at Beth’s things. Maybe there was a T-shirt or light pullover she could tuck discreetly under her own shirt. It really was so cold in here…

A quick search through the hangers proved fruitless. Kelsey stood on tiptoe, trying to see the high shelf at the back of the closet. There were stacks of things folded and several boxes—maybe there was something she could borrow.

She dragged a chair over and stood on it. Pulling on the nearest pile of clothes, she was instantly showered with envelopes that fell from a box without a lid.

“Damn!” Kelsey jumped back and began gathering everything up—clippings, photographs, letters—trying not to look at them, feeling like the worst kind of intruder. She had just swept them all back into the box when suddenly one particular piece of paper caught her eye. Unlike the others, this one didn’t have an envelope, and it had come unfolded in the fall so that the scrawled writing was clearly visible. But it wasn’t only the writing which caught her attention now—it was the official insignia stamped across the top:

BROOKFIELD PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL

For several long minutes Kelsey stared at it, and then, hating herself, she began to read, her eyes widening as they descended the paper.

Dear Beth,

Yes, to answer your last letter, I’m doing much better. As you can see, they even let me have a pen to write with now! Doc says I’m making great progress. I’ve had lots of time to think here—to think about what I almost did. I know you can’t run away from your troubles. I’ll never be Justin, and Dad will never accept me like he does Justin—I guess I have to live with that. What I tried to do to myself was the worst thing I could ever have done. But I’m lucky—I’m getting a second chance and I want to make it work this time.

So how’s Dad? Justin calls, but never comes—the calls are always in secret, of course. Guess I’m not the sort of thing you want your important friends to know about. But I guess I can handle that, too. But why hasn’t Dad at least been to see me? Or written? Or anything?

I’m glad you liked the scarf I sent. And you’re sweet to keep writing me, to keep believing in me. Guess you’re the only one who does, besides myself. Maybe if we’d been born into some different family, you and I could have known each other better.

Time to put this out for the mail. I look forward to your letters—they keep me going.

Neale

P.S. I love you, too.

Kelsey stared.

And even after she refolded the paper and put it back in its box, she sat there on the floor, staring but not seeing…until finally the room, and her thoughts, began to focus back.

Neale? In a psychiatric hospital? Her mind could hardly grasp it, and she shook her head, incredulous. Neale…and envious…of Justin? Kelsey stared at the folded paper. What had Neale tried to do to himself? Brookfield Psychiatric Hospital. Yet there was something else in the back of her mind…something important…Brookfield…something that Donna had told her…