Renata’s Pink Blanket Led Me Back to the Letter My Parents Buried

The old paint had chipped along its upper edge, exposing a narrow strip of bare wood.

“I know what I did.”

“Do you?”

She looked back at me, but she did not answer that question.

“I cannot undo the letter,” she said.

“I cannot make Frank’s signature disappear.

I can only ask to be there when she sings.”

“Then ask Renata.”