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Frank Jr.

“ I ’m so glad you’re home, Frank.”

My wife, Donna, ambushed me in the entryway before I could even set down my suitcase, wrapping her arms around my waist with an iron grip. Damn, the woman could give a hug.

I pulled Donna close, breathing her in—Giorgio Red perfume and the faint trace of the tobacco she still thought I didn’t notice. Being away from her had stretched time unbearably, each day dragging out like an ache. Now, back in the warm cocoon of our home, relief hit me in a crashing wave.

“I’m glad to be home too,” I murmured, kissing the top of her auburn head. “It was a long month.”

She loosened her grip and looked up at me, her green eyes searching my face. “How are you holding up?”

“Better now,” I said, though we both knew that better was a relative term. Losing Mom had knocked the stuffing out of me. Somehow, I always thought she’d outlive us all—she was too stubborn not to.

“Come sit down,” Donna said, taking my hand. “You must be exhausted from the flight.”

As we walked toward the living room, I asked, “Is Savannah here? I noticed her car out front.”

“She’s in the kitchen,” Donna said, glancing toward the doorway. “She’s deep in editing her latest book. So she came over for a change of scenery.”

I went back to my abandoned suitcase, unzipped it, and pulled out the wooden box of Mom’s mementos.

Donna’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that?”

I ran a hand over the intricate carvings on the lid. “Something she might be interested in.”

I headed to the kitchen, the box cradled in my elbow like a football.

Savannah sat at the table, headphones on, completely absorbed in her laptop screen. Her hair was pulled up in a messy ponytail, and she wore one of those oversized collegiate hooded sweatshirts she loved.

I paused in the doorway, watching her work. She had Mom’s delicate features and our family’s signature blue eyes. Seeing Savannah was like looking into the past and the future all at once. It gave me a sense of continuity, of life moving forward despite my recent loss.

I cleared my throat softly, not wanting to startle her. She looked up, then yanked off her headphones.

“Dad!” she exclaimed, a broad smile breaking across her face. She popped up and rushed over to me, wrapping me in a tight hug. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” I held her close for a moment before pulling back. “How’s the editing going?”

She scrunched her nose—half grimace, half shrug. “Slowly. I’ve been at it for ages, but I feel like I haven’t made a dent.”

“You’ll get it done,” I assured her. “You always do.”

We broke from our embrace, and I held up the wooden box. “I thought you might want to see this.”

Her eyes widened with curiosity. “What is it?”

“Some of Grandma’s old things.” I set the box on the table. “Photos, trinkets, keepsakes. Some of them go all the way back to the forties.”

Savannah peeked inside, her expression wonderstruck. “Wow. It’s like a time capsule.” She looked up at me, and for a moment, I saw the little girl who used to hang on every one of her grandmother’s stories, the young woman who devoured books with an insatiable hunger.

“Have you started writing your next book yet?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Not yet. I haven’t found the right inspiration.”

I reached into the box and pulled out the stack of letters from my stepfather, neatly tied with a faded red ribbon. Savannah tracked my hands, her eyes growing wider when she saw what I held.

“These are from your grandfather,” I said, handing them to her carefully, as if they were made of glass. “Love letters from their early days.”

She took them slowly, almost reverently. “I had no idea these existed.”

“Neither did I,” I said. “They’re…something else. A little ‘spicy,’ I think you’d call it.”

She brushed her fingers over the stack of letters. “Are you sure it’s okay if I read them? I don’t want to invade their privacy.”

I nodded my head. “It’s a story worth reading. Truly. I thought you might find some inspiration.”

“For what?” she asked, though I was sure she already understood the weight of what she held.

“Your next book.”