The older agent reaches into his briefcase and pulls out a manila folder, which he hands to me. I open it to find a plain envelope.
On the front, it simply saysGabby.
My first thought is that I want it as far away from me as possible. That’s the way I felt about the last letter he sent me, where he waxed poetic about our day in the meadow on my sixth birthday, as if he thought I’d feel nostalgic and love him again.
I shake my head. “I don’t want it. Just throw it out.”
Foster narrows his eyes. “No. We’d like for you to read it.”
“Foster,” Kulpa warns in a sharp tone. When he focuses on me, his voice is more appeasing, calmer. “Ryan. You probably don’t remember me, but I worked your father’s case. I was the first agent on site when it got called in. We met briefly at your grandmother’s house in Pennsylvania. You showed me your dolls.”
I stare blankly at him. I don’t remember this man at all. His face is alien to me.
“I’ve been on this case for a long time, and I know a lot of people are still suffering because of it. Whatever we can do to ease their suffering…I’d like to think we’re all on the same page about it, aren’t we? Wanting to end everyone’s suffering?”
I swallow. “Can I read this in private?”
“We’d prefer if you open it here.”
Why?I want to scream. Why do they need to watch me read it?
“If you want one of us to read it out loud for you…?” Kulpa lets the question hang.
I shake my head, then turn over the envelope, which is unsealed. The paper inside is a regular lined sheet, ripped from anotebook. I can see the handwriting pressing through the page, even before I open it. That’s one thing I remember from his other letters, something I never noticed all the years I lived with him—my father had a very heavy hand.
I unfold it and begin to read.
My little sparrow,
They will call me a coward for this, but of all the people left in this world, I think only you have the capacity to understand. It’s time for me to go. On my own terms. I won’t let anyone else decide when or how I leave this world. That choice, at least, will be mine.
I’ve trusted you with my sparrows. My pretty ones. You’ll watch over them, won’t you? Make sure they are never disturbed. Hold them in your heart as I’ve held you in mine. Keep them close. Keep them safe.
A few last thoughts on birds, just because they remind me of our good days. Did you know the mourning dove can travel over five hundred miles in a day? Or that if you hear a whippoorwill sing, it’s said to be an omen of impending death? I don’t hear one now, but maybe soon. I feel like if death was a bird, it would be a nightjar. So quiet and elusive, almost impossible to find when you’re looking.
Forgive me, if you can. For your mother, for what I couldn’t undo.
I love you, Gabby. Always.
Dad
The words blur together, and I don’t realize why until a teardrop hits the page. I quickly try to scrub it away, because I’m sure this paper is important evidence, but Agent Kulpa gives me a reassuring look.
“It’s already been processed and photocopied,” he says before gesturing to the letter. “Turn it over.”
I find three scrawled lines on the back.
Indigo bunting
Magnolia warbler
Purple finch
I frown, suddenly hearing my dad’s voice in my head.Indigo bunting. Blue as the sky on a summer’s day, and just as beautiful.
“Does that mean anything to you?” Foster presses.
“It’s a list of his favorite birds,” I mumble. “And no, it probably doesn’t mean anything. If you’ve read the other letters he sent me from prison, then you know he’s always mentioning birds in some context. He loved them.” I shove the letter into the envelope and push it onto Maggie’s desk. “Can I go now?”
