Noah looked at Daniel.
“What’s in them?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
Daniel shook his head.
“Your instructions are to open one each Saturday. In order.”
Noah suddenly gave a short laugh.
At a funeral.
I nudged him.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “It’s just… that’s him.”
Aaron studied the envelopes.
For the first time that afternoon, his expression softened.
“Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
The following Saturday, Noah opened the first envelope at our kitchen table.
Aaron and Claire had both come over.
Inside was an address and one sentence.
Take Claire with you.
Claire stared at the address.
Her mouth slowly opened.
“I know this place.”
It was a diner about twenty minutes away.
Claire said she had not been there in years.
When we arrived, an older woman behind the counter looked up.
The second she saw Claire, she froze.
“Oh, my goodness.”
Claire frowned.
“Ruth?”
Ruth came rushing around the counter and hugged her.
“I haven’t seen you since your mother died.”
Claire started crying before she even understood why Mr. Vance had sent us there.
Ruth disappeared into the back and returned carrying an old cardboard box.
“Your father brought this to me six months ago.”
She placed the box in front of Claire.
Inside were dozens of recipe cards.
Margaret’s handwriting covered every one.
Claire picked up the first card.
Her face crumpled.
“Cinnamon rolls.”
Ruth smiled sadly.
“Your mother’s Christmas recipe.”
Claire pressed the card against her chest.
