Gabi pulled her door shut and settled onto her bed with the suitcase, stumped by the dilemma of how to open it without causing irreparable damage. This ratty suitcase, more than the potted plants or the bottles of Naylor’s Pro-Bac crowding the towel closet in the guest bathroom, had the power to keep Gram alive. Gabi would rather leave it in one piece, the mystery within concealed forever, than deface it. She felt around her head for one of the large pins that hadn’t been knocked loose by Mathew’s rough handling that morning and pulled it from the nest of curls. Gabi pulled the bendy metal of the bobby pin apart and prodded the keyhole with it. After a few minutes, the lock gave way and Gabi looked at it in awe. She had actually done it, she marveled, and opened the case.
Though she would have gladly hurled the suitcase and all its contents off a cliff to have Gram back for even a few seconds, Gabi couldn’t deny how thrilling it was to finally get to open it for herself. The lining of the case was a pale shell-pink, ruched and tacked down along the edges so that everything within nested in a puffy cloud. Littered across the silky material were the odd assortment of treasures Gram had shared with her over the years: the illicit seed packets, the small jade elephant figurine, a scrap of a favorite T-shirt, a photo of Gram as a teenager carrying a banner amid an enormous crowd, protesting the oversight of drinking water supplies by pharmaceutical companies.
Gabi picked through seashells, creased postcards, and old photographs, most of which depicted strangers long dead or Gabi’s father in early childhood. There was one photograph of Gram and Grandpa when they were first married and a few from some of the trips they’d taken when Gabi’s father was a baby, but hardly anyone was printing photos by then. Everything had gone digital, and when technologies crashed during the Strain, it wiped billions of memories clean. Reluctant to make a tear in the lining, Gabi upended the contents of the suitcase onto the bed and ran her hands around the inside. She closed her eyes to heighten the sensitivity in her fingers, as she had with the lock, and within a few minutes, she felt a small seam on the inside of a pleated fold. The seam was right under Gabi’s finger, and by angling the suitcase more toward the light, she was able to discern where Gram had stitched up a tear about four inches long. Using the end of the hairpin, Gabi worked the delicate threads apart. The opening was just big enough for Gabi to slip her hand into, which she did, feeling around for the letter until her fingers brushed the corner of an envelope. The envelope came out easily, the tear having been tailor-made to accommodate it.
There must have been some mistake. The letter was not even addressed to her. It had been scrawled on what looked like the torn edge of a paper hospital gown. The script was a loose and flowery cursive, so different from the businesslike block print Gram used. The letter opened with the words “To My Dear Naomi.” Who was Naomi, why did Gram have a letter meant for her, and what possible reason could she have for wanting Gabi to read it? Any hope Gabi had that this letter might resolve the day’s mysteries was dashed. And yet, Gram’s message had said that this letter was something she had held on to as long as Gabi had been alive, and that in showing it to her, she was “breaking a trust.” Gabi had never known Gram to break her word for any reason, and the fact she would mention the letter on her deathbed spoke to its importance. Whether Gabi would understand that importance was a selfish concern. She flattened the torn edges of blue paper onto her bedspread and began to read.
My Dearest Naomi,
It is the agony of my life that I let you go, but you must know that there never was a child more wanted. I will not tell you that I was given no choice. I chose for you when you could not, as all parents must do. It was not only for you but for a greater good that I send you into the arms of our enemies. You are not safe with me, though I would do anything to keep you so. The world has become an ugly place. I must admit that, were it not for you, I would leave it without a trace of longing. Tend to your heart and spirit, and keep your body safe. Never be ashamed. You were intended from the tiniest detail. I don’t know that it will ever be safe for you to read this letter, but I leave it as a legacy of my love for you.
Gabi rolled onto her back, the letter clasped to her chest. Somewhere out there was a girl like herself, who had never known her mother and perhaps felt as wrong and alone in the world as Gabi did. Was she here in Alder? Was Gabi meant to find her so that she could give her the letter? Who was the woman who had written it, and how did it fall into Gram’s hands? With every passing moment, the world made less and less sense. Gram was gone, her father was acting strangely, Mathew had retracted into a hard shell to grieve, and the letter only made Gabi feel more alone.
Gram had meant for her to have the letter, had safeguarded it for over a decade and a half and broken her own ironclad code of honor to pass it along. Though its relevance was as
