Chapter 3
A sewing basket on the bottom shelf.
Sophie pulled it out.
Inside were spools of thread in almost every color.
Red.
White.
Black.
Gold.
And blue.
The spool of blue thread was nearly empty.
Grace stood at the doorway.
I picked it up.
Nothing happened.
No hidden compartment opened.
No secret note fell out.
Sophie looked disappointed.
“That’s it?”
“I guess so.”
She poked through the basket.
“What’s this?”
She lifted a small cardboard card.
Several needles were pinned through it.
On the back was writing.
Not Claire’s.
Emily Holloway’s.
Grace crossed the room instantly.
“May I?”
Sophie handed it to her.
Grace read the words.
Her face changed.
“What does it say?” I asked.
She looked at me.
“It says, ‘Some things are repaired because they are broken. Other things are repaired because someone plans to keep them.’”
I frowned.
“That’s all?”
Grace turned the card over.
There was a date.
Eight years earlier.
The day after the interstate accident.
“I remember this,” Grace whispered.
“You said you only met Claire once.”
“I did.”
She sank onto the bench beneath the window.
“My sister was badly injured in the accident. I came to the hospital because she didn’t have anyone else nearby.”
“What happened?”
“Claire stayed until I arrived.”
Grace ran her thumb across the edge of the card.
“Emily’s coat had torn during the crash. Claire was sewing it while they waited.”
“With blue thread.”
“Yes.”
The room became quiet.
Grace looked at Sophie.
“Can Evan and I talk for a minute?”
Sophie sighed dramatically.
“Adult stuff?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She took Caleb by the hand.
“Come on. Apparently the treasure hunt is boring.”
Caleb carried Mr. Buttons away.
When they were gone, Grace shut the door halfway.
“I remember Claire asking what I did for work.”
“Family support.”
“Yes.”
“She asked why.”
“What did you tell her?”
Grace stared at the needle card.
“I told her children were usually very good at showing adults something was wrong. Adults were usually bad at noticing until the signs became convenient to understand.”
That sounded exactly like something Claire would remember.
“And that was enough for her to put your name in legal documents?”
“No.”
Grace shook her head.
“It couldn’t have been.”
I picked up Claire’s letter again.
There had to be more.
I read past the opening lines.
The next paragraphs were gentler.
Evan,
You are going to hate this letter because you hate contingency plans you did not design yourself.
That almost made me laugh.
Claire knew me.
I continued.
But there may come a day when our children need someone who is not impressed by you, employed by you, afraid of you, related to you, or in love with you.
If that happens, I want you to listen before you decide you already understand.
May you like
I stopped.
Grace remained silent.
