The phone kept ringing, pulling me back. I finally looked at the screen: Mrs. Dilmore.
Owen adored her. Math was his favorite subject because of her, and he talked about her at dinner more than half his friends.
“Hello?” My voice came out thin.
“Meryl, I’m so sorry to call like this,” she said, sounding shaken. “I found something in my desk today. I think you need to come to the school right away.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s an envelope… with your name on it. It’s from Owen.”
My grip tightened around the shirt.
“From Owen?”
“Yes. I don’t know how it got there. But it’s in his handwriting.”
I don’t remember ending the call. I just remember standing too quickly, my heart pounding in my throat.
I found my mother in the kitchen. She had been staying with us since the funeral because I wasn’t eating and kept waking up at night calling my son’s name.
