The grief has transformed into something more acute.
“You’re not going to let me do this!” I shouted into the dusty air. “You’re not going to die and leave me with riddles to solve!”
The floorboards creaked underneath.
“Mom?” called Caleb.
“I’m fine, darling!” I replied — another lie.
I gathered the papers and went down from the attic. Back in our room, I spread everything out on the bed. On one of Caroline’s letters, the sender’s address was neatly printed in a corner.
Birch Alley.
No need for a city. It was ours, just twenty minutes away.
I gathered the documents and put them in my bedside table drawer.
If I waited, I would lose my courage.
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