“Anyone else?”

He turned the ignition.

The heater rattled to life, and he adjusted the vent toward me.

“No, Emma.

It’s a day for us.”

I watched him pull out of the driveway.

His answer should have been enough, but I kept thinking about the bank envelope and the photograph, about the words my mother had written and the name she had left me without explaining.

Why had Linda told me to open her letter only when I needed to know who would come looking for me?