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And it looks old. Very, very old.
June’s holding her hands out flat, the box perched on top like she’s waiting for it to take flight.
“Will it open?” I finally ask.
She runs a finger around the edge, finds two hinges on the back, looks at them. Then she pushes up on the opposite side with her thumbs and after a moment, it opens.
“Oh, my God,” June whispers. “Holy shit.”
There are only two things inside: a worn, dented man’s wedding ring and a bundle of papers, tied tightly with a leather cord.
June picks up the ring, turns it around in her fingers. It’s silent out except for the background noises that are always there in the forest: the wind in the trees, faraway chirping.
She puts the ring back, gently picks up the bundle of papers.
“Looks like letters,” I say.
“I’m not brave enough to untie them,” she says, her voice low. “I’m afraid they’ll just disintegrate.”
I agree. She puts the letters back carefully, closes the box. I take it from her, turn it around in my hands, careful to touch only the corners, the edges, as if I can do damage to it that two hundred years in a tree didn’t.
“That could be from anywhere,” June says, still watching it in my hands. “We could be looking at a historical object from 1997.”
“Could be,” I agree. “Do you think that?”
“I think we should get someone more qualified to look at it,” she says.
I take it over to my pack, pull out the shirt I wore yesterday, wrap the box carefully in that and then place it, carefully, in my sleeping bag, hoist the whole thing onto my shoulders.
“Ready to go home?” I ask June.
“Yeah, let’s go,” she says, lifting her own pack. I help her settle it onto her back, and before she leaves, she glances back at the oak tree one more time.
“I guess that excuse to spend time with you is over,” she says, a smile in her voice.
“Now you’ll just have to settle for seeing me every morning.”
June laughs.
“Where’s the mystery?” she teases. “The danger, the intrigue?”
I give her a quick kiss on the lips, her warmth flooding me despite the cold air.
“I’ll start wearing a cape,” I say, and her laugh echoes through the forest.EpilogueJuneSix Months LaterI crouch in front of the fridge, trying to see past a shelf full of green, leafy things as the door hits me in the back.
“Where’s the other thing of seven-layer dip?” I ask over my shoulder.
“I already put it out,” Levi answers from the sink, where he’s refilling a pitcher of water. “Apparently your dad dosed the first one with hot sauce, so we needed an alternative.”
I sigh, resting my head against the cold shelf in the fridge.
“She’s keeping an eye on the new one, right?” I ask.
“I asked her to.”
“Thanks,” I say, and stand.
One second later, Caleb’s head pops around the corner and into the kitchen, and he looks from Levi to me and back.
“Oh good, you’re both in one place,” he says. “Cool. Stay there.”
“Hold on.”
“No!”
Levi and I speak simultaneously, and we’re rewarded with Caleb briefly reappearing.
“Silas and I got you a housewarming present,” he says. “Just stay here for a sec, okay?”
Then he’s gone again. We look at each other.
“Oh,” I say.
“Huh,” Levi agrees.
It is, technically, a housewarming party, even though I moved in several months ago with very little fanfare.
“That was nice,” I say, still a little uncertain about this whole situation because I didn’t know Silas was getting us anything, and I’m not exactly sure why I can’t leave the kitchen.
We share a glance.
“It’s nice, right?” I ask.
Levi leans back against the counter, folds his arms in front of himself.
“We should probably assume it’s nice until proven otherwise,” he says. “He’s come a long way.”
He means Silas, of course. Caleb wasn’t the one with the problem.
And he’s right. Silas, while clearly having some weird hang-ups that I don’t entirely understand, has mostly been cool. We’ve been having him over for dinner about once a week, and I know that he and Levi still hang out without me.
Every once in a while, I do still have to give him a quick talk, but overall, he’s been good.
It’s an adjustment, but I think everything is going to work out just fine.
“Okay,” says Charlie’s voice, followed by a loud slap on the island that separates the kitchen from the living room. “I don’t like this ending.”
She points at the copy of The Atlantic that she just smacked onto the counter.
“Everybody’s a critic,” I tease.
“A suspended sentence?” she asks, pointing at the magazine. “They did all those tree crimes and got a two-thousand-dollar fine and suspended sentences?”
“They pleaded guilty,” I shrug. “And it turns out that cutting down trees isn’t that bad of a crime.”
“It’s because they’re considered property crimes against the federal government,” Levi says next to me. “The original draft of her story went into that more, but they cut it because they thought it wasn’t sexy.”
