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Grace focuses on her tea as she answers.

“The world is full of mysteries. Nature is powerful. It takes as easily as it gives. We must respect it, always.” She dabs her eyes with a napkin.

“Maybe it is the lake and not a person. The coincidences are hard to explain. All I know for sure is that you shouldn’t go digging, Izzy. Some secrets are best left alone.”

I smile weakly, knowing good advice I won’t take when I hear it.

Silence settles over us. I look around for something to keep the conversation going.

This place is like a time capsule. A grandfather clock stands in the corner of the living room, with a glass front that allows me to peek at the weights and pendulum that help it keep time.

The end table is adorned with lace doilies under antique crystal bowls, one filled with hard candy.

The shelves are stocked with old books and all kinds of knickknacks—a choirboy figurine, a ceramic cat and dog, other vintage glass animals, and a set of old-fashioned teacups.

I wonder which of these items belonged to Anna, and if Grace recovered any of them on her quest to reclaim her sister’s possessions.

I find myself taking a mental inventory of everything, and that’s when I see it. A shock reverberates through my system.

It’s a small wooden box with decorative metal edging and a delicate clasp.

I can see the intricate pearl inlay that ribbons around the bottom, and I recognize the repeating pattern of vines and flowers.

I know this box, or at least one just like it.

I’ve seen it before, but obviously not in Grace’s home.

But where? I can’t place it. The answer is dancing just out of reach, like a terrible itch I can’t scratch.

Grace follows my eyes, perhaps noticing I’m spellbound.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she says. She carefully takes the box off the shelf, cradling it in her hands like she’s holding a valuable piece of art.

“It belonged to Anna. Such a precious keepsake. It’s the last piece of hers I found.

I got it at an estate sale nearby—bought it for three dollars, something like that.

I just love it.” She hands the box to me, then asks if I’d like some tea.

I point to my cup, which is still pretty full.

“Oh, my bad. There goes my memory again. Lucky for you, I don’t seem to forget my way around the forest, but I do forget a lot of other things these days. I’ll go make myself a cup.”

She ventures to the kitchen, leaving me alone to examine the box and hopefully jog my memory.

It feels important somehow. I admire the craftsmanship, but I want to have a look inside.

I try to lift the clasp, but it’s stuck.

Maybe the tiny hinge has rusted with age.

I try one more time to loosen it, but I use too much force.

The entire clasp separates from the wood in one piece.

I panic and look toward the kitchen, hoping Grace hasn’t seen what happened.

Luckily, she’s still busy making her tea.

But what am I going to do? She rescued me, and here I am, repaying her kindness by breaking something that means the world to her.

My hands shake vigorously as I try to put the clasp back in place, but the glue is old, and it lost a tiny screw that I can’t find.

I hear Grace returning from the kitchen. Panic floods my chest. Before I know it, I’m shoving the box into my backpack. Maybe she won’t notice, or maybe she’ll forget, her memory issues working in my favor. Then I can fix it and return it, and she’ll be none the wiser.

Grace approaches, displaying a hint of concern. “Are you feeling well? You look peaked.”

She dabs my forehead with the same tea towel she used for her misty eyes.

“I’m fine,” I say breathlessly, trying to keep my heart inside my chest.

“How’s your ankle feeling?”

I show her that I can move it fairly well, but perhaps adrenaline has blocked my pain receptors.

“Oh, good. I like to see that kind of mobility. Let’s get the paste cleaned off, and I have a crutch you can use. I think it’s time to get you home, dear,” Grace says with concern. “You’ve been through a lot and need a good night’s sleep.”

Grace gets the crutch from a closet and does not mention the box that seems to have vanished into thin air. As soon as I’m cleaned up, Grace helps me to my feet. Whatever she’s done seems to have worked. I can put more weight on my injured ankle than before.

“I recommend wrapping your ankle in an Ace bandage, and staying off your feet as much as possible,” she says. She sounds knowledgeable, and I don’t dare argue. But more important, the crutch has given me an excuse to come back, so I can bring the box once I fix it.

“Sure thing, and I’ll return the crutch when I’m better,” I tell her, finding a smile now that I have a plan. “But I’m sure the twins I’m looking after won’t let me lounge around.”

Grace escorts me to the door. “In that case, I’m going to give you an herbal treatment to take daily. Just mix it with water. It will help with the swelling. It’s bitter, but a pinch of sugar will help it go down.”

I don’t tell her that she’s essentially quoting Mary Poppins.

I’m too ashamed of being a lying thief to associate myself with the greatest nanny of all time.

But I promise to set things right. And I wonder if everything that’s happened to me—my injury, my rescuer, and the broken clasp—all happened for a reason, because this box means something.

I just need to figure out what.