Elena found a small seam near the bottom.
“Here.”
It had been stitched shut.
Lucas carefully worked one finger beneath the edge.
Something crackled.
Paper.
My heart began pounding.
He pulled gently.
A narrow envelope slid from beneath the lining.
It was yellow with age.
On the front, in my mother’s handwriting:
THE SUMMER OF 1984
ONLY HANNAH.
Douglas looked at me.
1984.
The year we were seventeen.
My hands shook so badly I couldn’t open it.
Lucas handed me a letter opener from the bedside table.
I slid it beneath the flap.
Inside were two things.
A folded sheet of paper.
And another photograph.
I pulled out the photograph first.
It had been taken at summer camp.
I recognized the lake immediately.
The wooden dock.
The red canoes.
The line of cabins.
And myself.
Seventeen years old.
Standing beside Douglas.
His arm thrown casually around my shoulders.
Both of us sunburned and laughing.
