Chapter 63

“This one’s not mine.”

Frances Noonan looked over at Alma Gordon, who held out a gray envelope. They sat in the backyard of Sylvia’s house, enjoying the unseasonably warm day, drinking iced tea in the shade of an orange tree surrounded by plants and trees of all shapes and colors. A hummingbird flitted in some red flowers nearby. Harold had dug a sandbox in the corner, and Baby Owen sat in the middle piling sand into the back of a yellow plastic dump truck. Mr. Glenn squatted next to the sandbox, unwrapping a set of small garden tools he brought for Owen. Mrs. Noonan couldn’t help but smile. The spot was so relaxing, and the child looked so happy.

The envelope was addressed to her. She recognized the print immediately. It was from Serena.

Alma Gordon’s apartment was 4-A. Frances Noonan’s was 5-A. The postman must have mixed this letter in with all Alma’s junk mail. So much for not snooping. After Alma’s comment about Enid Carmichael and how Alma didn’t trust her with her mail, Frances never so much as peeked at the letters and fliers and catalogs, just bundled them up with a rubber band and put them in a paper sack from the gourmet grocery store. Sarah had brought her some lemons and Frances saved the bag, it was so pretty. Imagine buying lemons at the gourmet grocery.

She liked to respond quickly to Serena’s letters, as the mail took extra long to get through the prison screening system. She didn’t want Serena to have to wait forever. This one might have been in the bag since Friday. She slid her finger under the flap.

“Owen!” Mr. Glenn howled. He fell back on his haunches, hands to his face. “We don’t throw sand!”

Frances set the letter on the table and hurried to help him.