My Elderly Neighbor Died — After His Funeral, I Received a Letter From Him Revealing He’d Buried a Secret in His Backyard 40 Years Ago

Meanwhile, our youngest, Daphne, ran in, her hair wild from sleep. “Can we go to Mr. Whitmore’s yard after school? I want to get more leaves to paint.”

“Are you going to do it?”

Richie and I exchanged a look.

“Maybe later,” I said. “Let’s just get through the day first.”

The rest of the day crawled.

I tied my shoes, braided my hair, wiped jam off faces, then reread the letter so many times my thumb left a smudge on the ink.

Every time I folded it, my stomach turned.

Richie and I exchanged a look.

That evening, as the girls watched TV and Richie made spaghetti, I stood by the window, staring at the apple tree’s twisted branches.