PART 2
I sat down on the stone bench beside my mother’s grave because my knees no longer trusted me.
The groundskeeper didn’t leave. He stood a few feet away with his hands folded over the handle of a rake, the way soldiers stand at parade rest when they don’t know what else to do with grief.
I kept reading.
I’m not going to tell you everything in this letter, because letters can be stolen, and I’ve learned the hard way that the people closest to me read things they shouldn’t. What I will tell you is this: I got sick in the spring. Not the kind of sick that comes on its own. The kind that comes from the cup of tea someone hands you every night with a kiss on the forehead.
A doctor I trust ran tests that no one asked him to run. He found something in my blood that had no business being there.
I didn’t go to the police right away. I know you’ll be angry about that. But I had no proof of who, only of what. And I had a feeling the people involved weren’t working alone.
Unit 108 holds the rest. Go alone. Trust Walter. Don’t trust anyone who tells you they loved me more than you did.
I am proud of you every single day, Captain.
—Dad
I read it three times. Then I folded it along its old creases and pressed it flat against my thigh so the groundskeeper wouldn’t see my hands shake.
—END OF Chapter 1, —PRESS NEXT PART IN BOTTOM OF PAGE TO READ NEXT Chapter
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