He briefly considered copying the fancy symbol onto his letter in an attempt to impress Coralis. He tried to focus on it, but every time he thought he had it, it would blur and squiggle in his vision—sunlight and shadow playing tricks on his eyes. Probably a bad idea anyway, he thought. For all he knew it might be a symbol for something like ballet, or cake mix, or even coffee, which his father had never liked in the past, but more recently couldn’t get enough of.

Scanning his father’s office, he found three other books that appeared of a set with the one on the desk. They were tucked out of the way on the tallest shelf. After a moment’s consideration, Henry pulled his chair over and stood on it, retrieving them and stacking all four together upon the desk.

He ran his hand over the textured surface of the nearest book. Despite the warmth of the office, it felt cool. He glanced toward the open doorway, almost expecting to see his father standing there. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was seeing something he shouldn’t see.

But that was silly. After all, they were only books. And wasn’t he encouraged to read?

All the same, his hand shook slightly with anticipation as he lifted the cover. The spine crackled loudly. Even Henry, with as active an imagination as any eleven-year-old boy ever had, could not have anticipated what he would find when he opened the cover. Scrolled onto the endpaper in elaborate calligraphy were six unexpected words:

Yes, Henry, these are for you.

It wasn’t the usual inscription of To Henry, love, Mom that many of his other books had. The way it was written, it was as if someone had anticipated this very moment, granting him permission to take them.

And he had never seen the handwriting before in his life.

It took several trips. The books were oversize and rather heavy. But he managed to carry them up to his room without any interference. He closed the door behind him and wedged a chair beneath the doorknob to lock out unwanted visitors named Brianna.

At the foot of the bed sat a green metal chest. It had belonged to his great-great-grandfather, who had been a brave firefighter many years ago. The name Henry Leach IV was stenciled on the footlocker in large block letters. He’d been thrilled when his father had given him the chest and told him the story of how Henry Leach the Fourth risked his life during the great San Francisco earthquake of 1906. Sharing his name with a true American hero made him proud.