That frightened me.
Dad had never avoided anything except doctors and conversations about his own feelings.
I tugged at the tight knot.
“Of course,” I muttered. “He tied it like he expected a hurricane.”
Using my car key, I ripped through the plastic.
The first object inside was a photograph.
A woman stood in a sunny backyard beside a man and two young adults.
I recognized her eyes.
They were the same eyes I saw in my mirror every morning.
She was older now. Her hair was shorter, and fine lines surrounded her mouth, but I knew immediately who she was.
The picture had been taken only six months ago.
I turned it over.
