Good luck on your test.
Love, Mom.
Now those familiar letters formed a sentence that felt as though it had crossed nearly forty years to find me.
Forgive me someday.
I whispered the words aloud.
Douglas turned his face away.
Lucas sat beside the suitcase.
“There’s more.”
I couldn’t imagine how there could possibly be more.
But there was.
He reached beneath the bundles of letters and removed a large brown envelope.
Unlike everything else in the suitcase, it looked newer.
On the front was written:
FOR HANNAH RUTH BENNETT
IF SHE EVER COMES.
My middle name.
Ruth.
Ruthie.
Douglas had been the only person who called me that.
My mother hated it.
“Her name is Hannah,” she’d correct him whenever he came to our house.
Douglas would wait until she walked away and whisper, “Yes, Mrs. Bennett.”
Then he’d grin at me.
“Ruthie.”
I touched the envelope.
