The thick cover was still warped and stained from the wet earth at Cedar Ridge Cemetery.

The gold lettering on the front was permanently hidden under dirt.

I picked up the blue passbook and held it in my left hand.

The little book felt remarkably light for something that had caused so much destruction.

I carried both into the living room.

The sun was starting to set over the houses across the street, casting long orange shadows across my new pine floors.

I stopped at the wide windowsill facing the front yard.