Brielle announced that it must open a hidden treasure chest.

We washed the dirt from it and set it on the kitchen windowsill until we could find out what it belonged to.

I looked at the key for a long time after they went upstairs.

For years I had believed security meant keeping a husband pleased, even at the cost of my own voice.

My aunt had tried to leave me something stronger: a measure of freedom protected by paperwork, yes, but meant to be used with judgment.

The children came back outside carrying lemonade.