She unfolded it like it might fall apart in her hands.
It began with a name — Eleanor — and a promise from a man named Thomas, written in October of 1944, telling her that if this reached her and he did not, he wanted her to know he’d kept everything of value close, and that he intended to find his way back to her and their son, one way or another.
Maria sat with that letter for a long time.
She thought about the rent due in nine days. She thought about Eli’s shoes, a half-size too small. She thought about how three gold coins and a gold pocket watch could solve almost every problem she had, tonight, tomorrow, this month.
She also thought about a man named Thomas, writing to a woman named Eleanor in 1944, hoping to make it home to his son.
