I closed my eyes and tracked out the rest of the journey home in my head, knowing exactly when the car would tilt and shift either left or right. Knowing exactly when we would turn onto our street. When we would turn into our driveway.
“Look, George. We missed another package,” Mom said, as she got out of the car. Sure enough, a UPS “Sorry We Missed You” sticker was stuck to the front door, the lower half fluttering on the breeze.
“It’ll be my new fishing gear,” Dad said, looking over his shoulder to waggle his eyebrows at me. He loved his fishing almost as much as he loved my mom. His obsession with getting up to go stand on the pier at the crack of dawn every morning drove her crazy, though. She could never see the point in spending hours down there, waiting, wasting time (as she saw it) to catch fish that he couldn’t even clean and bring home to eat, since the water wasn’t clean enough. It gave Dad an unbelievable amount of pleasure to wind her up by telling he’d bought this new reel, or that new set of floats.
I could hear her swearing under her breath as she retrieved the UPS sticker from the door, scanning the note quickly, all the while threatening physical violence if he’d even dared to fritter away money they didn’t have on fishing paraphernalia.
“It’s not for you, George. It’s for Ophelia,” Mom said, holding it up. “Says legal documents in the description.”
I’d received a fair number of those in the mail over the past year. My divorce settlement with Will had taken a while to clear—the bastard had tried to wheedle way more money out of me than he was entitled to—and so the paperwork had only recently come through for me to sign and file. I’d thought everything was finished and over with, though. Strange that there would be anything outstanding now that I didn’t know about.
“You want me to go and get it?” Mom asked. The guy at the UPS store down the road had been there for years and knew us all by name; it was common for us to pick up mail and packages for each other if we were in the area.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll walk over there. I think I need to stretch my legs.” I’d been on my feet all day, but I didn’t feel like going inside just yet. Besides, walking always helped me clear my head.
At the UPS store, Jacob was sitting behind his desk, eating what looked like a pastrami sandwich. He looked up, guilt written all over his face. “Don’t tell Bett,” he said, grinning sheepishly. “She’ll be down here monitoring my calorie intake every afternoon if she knows I’m not eating salad for lunch. My cholesterol’s through the roof.”
I pretended to zip my lips and throw away the key. “She’ll never hear it from me,” I told him. “You should probably alternate between the pastrami and the salad, though, Jacob. That uniform’s looking a little tight around the midriff these days.”
Used to a gentle teasing every once in a while, Jacob just rolled his eyes. “Take it you’re here for that envelope I couldn’t deliver earlier?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Mind my sandwich for a moment while I go get it for you, then. And don’t be sneaking a bite.” Jacob heaved himself out of his seat and disappeared out back, returning only a few seconds later with the envelope in his hands. It was at least an inch thick, way heftier than I would have imagined any stray divorce documentation to be. “Could kill a man with this if you done drop it on his head,” Jacob advised me. “What on earth you got in here, girl?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t got a clue. I thought it was lawyer stuff from Will, but…” I took the envelope from him, frowning. “I get the feeling it’s something else entirely.” I signed for the mail and left Jacob in peace, despite the fact that I knew how eager he was to find out what was inside the envelope.
When I got home, both Mom and Dad were in the yard, talking in hushed tones. Dread cycled through me whenever they did that—it meant something bad had happened. Something probably to do with money. Another letter in the mail, maybe. A phone call from a debt collector. Those were the worst. They put everyone in a spin for days, while we all rejigged what little assets we had and tried to find money to pay them off. I left them to it. No sense in making them feel even more awkward than they already did. Instead, I crept up the stairs and closed myself away in my room. I had no idea what was inside the envelope I held tightly in my hands, but I got the feeling that it was nothing good. Tearing back the seal a little at a time, I had to fight to force myself to open it all the way.
Inside: two photographs, a boy and a girl.
Two files in plastic wallets: Connor Fletcher, Age 7. Amie Fletcher, Age 5.
A blue, white and red business envelope, American Airlines. Inside, a business class flight to Knox County Airport, dated for two day’s time.
At the bottom, underneath all of this baffling information, one handwritten note.