“What?”
“She was carrying that suitcase.”
My chest tightened.
“I thought she’d already left.”
“She hadn’t.”
Mrs. Johnson looked toward Leo.
“She stood inside my kitchen and cried so hard she could barely speak.”
I couldn’t picture it.
Or maybe I didn’t want to.
“She asked me to watch over you both.”
“Why you?”
“Because she had watched me with Leo during those first days. She knew I cared about him.”
Leo squeezed her hand.
Mrs. Johnson continued.
“She gave me the letter and copies of the legal documents. She told me not to give them to you until Leo turned eighteen.”
“You agreed?”
“I argued with her.”
“Not hard enough.”
She accepted that without defending herself.
“You’re right.”
The room went quiet.
Then she said, “But there is something else.”
I almost laughed.
“What else could there possibly be?”
Mrs. Johnson stood slowly.
She walked into the hallway and returned with a small metal box.
I’d seen that box before.
She’d kept old photographs in it.
She placed it in front of Leo.
Inside were envelopes.
Dozens of them.
One for every birthday.
Some for Christmas.
Some marked simply:
For a hard day.
For when you graduate.
For when you fall in love.
For when you wonder whether your mother loved you.
Leo picked up the last one.
His lips parted.
“These are from Mom?”
Mrs. Johnson nodded.
“She sent them to me.”
I couldn’t speak.
Leo looked at her.
“Why didn’t you give them to me?”
“Because she had no legal right to contact you while you were a minor under the agreement she signed. And because she was terrified that if her father discovered she’d broken it, he’d reopen everything.”
“Is he still alive?” I asked.
“No.”
That surprised me.
