Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two
Clare turned toward the raised stage, holding the kraft paper envelope in her left hand.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
Clare walked up the three carpeted steps to the band’s platform and tapped the top of the chrome microphone.
The lead saxophonist lowered his instrument mid-bar, and the music stopped.
Clare drew a folded sheet of thin blue paper from one of the forty-three airmail envelopes resting on the music stand.
The postmark was faded, stamped at Scott Air Force Base sixteen years ago.
“This letter arrived on my sixteenth birthday,” Clare said into the microphone.
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