“He told me to.”
I felt cold.
“Why?”
Callum looked at me through the mirror.
“He said you were coming home.”
We reached the house 20 minutes later.
The porch looked almost the same.
The maple tree my father planted when I was twelve towered over the roof.
I could not move.
My sister opened her door.
“You don’t have to go inside yet.”
“I didn’t come all this way to sit in a driveway.”
Callum stayed behind.
I noticed.
“You’re not coming?”
He looked toward the house.
“Your mother doesn’t want me here.”
A strange laugh escaped me.
“That makes two of us.”
I carried the box inside.
My mother was waiting in the hallway.
She was 80 now.
Her hair was silver.
Her shoulders had curved.
Still, I knew her immediately.
She stared at me.
I waited for anger.
Instead, she whispered, “Oh, Eloise.”
Then she started crying.
I stood there like a stranger.
She took one step toward me.
I stepped back.
Her eyes went to the box.
Everything in her face changed.
“Where did you get that?”
“Callum.”
My mother shut her eyes.
“He should have left it alone.”
“No. Everyone should have stopped leaving things alone 30 years ago.”
