For Seven Years I Sent Forty Thousand Dollars Every January, Until Emma Finally Spoke

I looked at the drawing again.

The blue wax was thick and shiny against the white paper.

“Who’s Clara?” I asked.

“She tells Dad what to buy,” Emma whispered.

“She picked out my winter boots.

They cost two hundred dollars.”

“Does Clara live in Oakridge?” I asked.

“She lives on the boat,” Emma whispered.