Below it:
But I saved the shoes because I wanted proof that you never stopped moving forward.
I cried quietly.
The letter continued.
Your mother loved you every day she was away. Do not punish her for surviving something neither of you understood.
I looked toward the lodge.
Mom was standing on the porch, speaking with Frank.
And don’t make the same mistake I did. Tell people what they mean to you before all they have left is your handwriting.
I smiled through the tears.
Typical Dad.
Even his apology sounded like an instruction.
At the bottom was a P.S.
There’s one more thing under the dock. Frank knows where.
I groaned.
Of course there was.
Frank saw my expression and immediately started laughing.
“I forgot about that.”
“You forgot another dead-man surprise?”
“I’m old.”
We walked down to the lake.
Under the dock, bolted inside a waterproof metal container, was another envelope.
