The limestone building on Main Street stood tall and quiet in the Sunday morning sun, its shadow stretching across the empty brick square.

Clare pulled David’s station wagon up to the curb in front of the stone steps and stepped out into the clear air.

She had shown me the letter across our diner table twenty minutes earlier, three pages written on heavy cream stationery describing her plans for the summer.

She walked up the three front steps carrying the sealed white envelope in her right hand.

She paused beside the blue iron mailbox mounted near the heavy brass entrance doors.