“Where did you get that?”
“She gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The day Lucas was born.”
My fingers tightened around the flowers I was carrying.
“You’ve had a letter from my daughter for ten years?”
The woman lowered her eyes.
“Yes.”
Before I could answer, I heard Lucas calling from the bottom of the hill.
“Grandma! I found it!”
He was running toward us from the car, waving the birthday card he had made for his mother.
The woman looked at him.
“Don’t open that envelope in front of him.”
I stared at her.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Trudy.”
