Not forgiveness.
Not yet.
But perhaps the beginning of a conversation they had postponed for seven years.
Before we left, Daniel returned to the hidden room to gather the letters. He placed them in order inside a cardboard box while Silas watched.
Near the bottom of the pile, he found a blue envelope.
Unlike the others, it was addressed to Daniel.
The postmark was from Cedar Rapids.
Four days earlier.
Evelyn saw it and pressed a hand to her mouth.
“I didn’t know that was there.”
Daniel turned it over.
The seal had not been broken.
“Did she leave this during the visit?”
“She must have.”
“Why didn’t she give it to me herself?”
Evelyn said nothing.
Daniel held the envelope for nearly a minute.
Then he opened it.
Inside was a single page and a photograph.
He read the page silently.
Halfway through, his expression changed.
“What does it say?” Evelyn asked.
Daniel handed the photograph to her without answering.
She stared at it.
I could see only the back, where a date had been written in dark ink.
August 3.
Four days ago.
“What is it?” Silas asked.
Daniel looked at me, then at Denise, as though he were searching for permission to delay the truth once more.
He seemed to understand that doing so was no longer possible.
He placed the photograph on the table.
It showed Elena standing outside the Cedar Rapids Public Library. She appeared older than she did in the framed picture, but the resemblance to Silas was unmistakable.
She wore a library identification badge.
Silas leaned closer.
His face became still.
“You know her?” Daniel asked.
Silas reached into his backpack.
He opened the front pocket and removed a folded piece of cream-colored paper.
“I didn’t know her name.”
He placed the paper beside the photograph.
Written across the top in the same careful handwriting as the envelopes were the words:
For Silas—because some stories take the long way home.
Daniel unfolded the rest of the note.
“When did you get this?” he asked.
“Yesterday.”
