The cardboard flap gave way with a stiff, dry scrape. Inside, resting on top of a stack of papers, lay a plain white envelope smelling faintly of lavender. My name was written across the front in Emily’s neat, upright cursive, the ink a dark navy blue she always favored.
I pulled the single sheet of heavy paper from the envelope and unfolded it on my lap.
Dear Thomas, the letter began, the letters rounded and steady, showing none of the physical weakness that had taken her over during her final months. I am a coward for writing this, but you are the only one who can fix it.
My eyes moved down the page, tracing the blue ink. She wrote about Apex Logistics, the shipping company on the county line where she had worked as an office manager for twelve years. She wrote about her younger sister, Brenda.
