You reach for your pen and begin to write.

Dear Celia,

Thank you for the postcard. It is lovely to hear from you after all this time. I must be honest, I have forgotten most of our time together, as I understand you moved away when I was quite young. Still, reading your correspondence has brought back a whisper of memory . . .

You write a brief summary of your life since moving to Syracuse. You light-heartedly mention the difficulty you’ve had finding a job. You speak highly of your aunt and uncle’s generosity. You then inquire into Celia’s life, hoping to learn more about your mysterious newfound relative.

The picture of California you sent is breathtaking. Do you live near that valley? I would be pleased to hear more about your life in California, should you be willing to respond.

I hope to hear from you soon.

You reread your message. Satisfied, you sign your name before carefully folding the page and sealing it inside an envelope.

The next afternoon, Walter knocks on the front door. You greet him and take the mail he hands you, giving him your letter in exchange. “California, huh?” he says. “This little envelope’s got a long journey ahead.”

Shortly after Walter leaves, you hear another knock at the door. You . . .