“Aren’t they?”
“Perhaps.”
She watched the sunset.
“But beginnings get too much credit and endings get too much blame.”
I smiled.
“What deserves the credit?”
“The middle.”
She looked toward the window where Owen sat writing.
“Most of life happens there.”
The winter concert approached.
Daniel agreed to attend.
So did Lisa, Michael, and several of the former students from Halloween.
Even Marianne planned to come.
Two evenings before the performance, Owen found the seventh letter.
Not in an archive.
Not in the cabinet.
Not among Thomas’s belongings.
Mrs. Parker had it.
Or rather, she had always had it.
He was helping her move a small bookcase when a photograph slid from behind the backing.
The photograph showed a young Mrs. Parker and Thomas sitting together on the school steps.
Behind it was an envelope.
Already opened.
Owen stared.
“Mrs. Parker.”
She looked at the envelope.
And sat down.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
