The lawyer’s voice dropped almost to a whisper.
“The note was written eight years ago.”
I stared at Bo.
Confused.
The dog stared back.
Waiting.
The lawyer continued.
“Walter never knew who would find Bo.”
Another pause.
“But he believed someone eventually would.”
A chill ran through me despite the heat.
“Eight years ago,” the lawyer said, “Walter lost someone on this exact stretch of highway.”
The world seemed to tilt.
The traffic noise disappeared.
Everything disappeared except those words.
This exact stretch of highway.
My grip tightened around the wallet.
And suddenly I wasn’t thinking about Walter anymore.
Because I knew this road.
I knew it far too well.
The lawyer spoke carefully now.
“As I understand it, the person Walter lost that day was a little girl.”
My breath stopped.
No.
No.
It couldn’t be.
Not here.
Not this road.
Not this story.
The lawyer continued.
