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Dear Liz, You know as well as I do, I don’t believe in this kind of thing.

At least, I didn’t.

I don’t know how to explain it—science and reason certainly don’t help—but I know, I know in my soul that you brought me here.

That day in the car, all those months back, I saw the road sign for Thickwood Drive on my left and a car parked in the street with a Totally Pucked personalized plate on my right, and I stopped because I knew you’d have laughed your ass off at both of those things and doubly so that they appeared so close to each other.

Once I’d parked, going inside seemed like the only thing to do.

I didn’t like the house.

It wasn’t my taste, but when I got to the kitchen, I stood in front of the range hood and saw that tile, and I swear I felt you.

I felt your hand on my back and such a distinctive shove that I actually turned around, expecting to see you.

So, like I said, I can’t explain it, but I know.

I know you brought me here.

To this city.

To this street. To this house. To Jeremiah. Most of all, I know you brought me to Jeremiah. You had my back one last time, didn’t you, Lizzie? I love you and I miss you, and I’m happy. Love, Ben