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A ghost? Well, I’d prefer a ghost to a crazy criminal.
I consider just turning around. My dad will ask me who it was, though, and he’ll know I didn’t open the door.
Oh, let’s just get it over with.
I open the door. No one’s there. Relief washes over me. I let it out in a big breath as I put my hand over my chest. Thank goodness.
Then I see the envelope on the doormat. An envelope with my name on it. A letter?
I bend down to pick it up.
“Who is it?” my dad asks.
I hear his footsteps coming.
“Nobody.” I tuck the envelope into my pocket before turning to face him. “Maybe it was just the wind.
His eyebrows furrow as he tries to look past me. “Hmm.”
I close the door and walk towards him, past him.
“Is everything okay?” he asks me.
I nod. “Yup. I’ll just go upstairs for a bit. I just remembered something.”
“Okay.”
I walk to the stairs.
“Jenna?” my dad calls after me.
I stop and turn slowly. Did he notice the envelope I hid from him?
“I just wanted you to know I’m glad you grew up,” my dad says. “And into a fine woman. Your mother would be proud of how much you’ve grown this past year. She always said you were an unending surprise.”
Wow. I wasn’t expecting that.
I nod. “Thanks, Dad.”
I almost feel guilty hiding something from him, but I squash that guilt as I head upstairs. Why should I feel guilty? The letter is addressed to me.
I open it once I’m in my bedroom. There are only six words written on the piece of paper.
Dax Bender isn’t good for Shanna.
My eyes grow wide. What’s this? A warning? A veiled threat? Why does this person know Dax? And why is he saying Dax isn’t good for Shanna? How does he even know that Dax has anything to do with Shanna?
I can only answer the last question. Whoever sent this letter must have read that despicable article. Is that how fast, how much it’s spread?
Or maybe this letter is from the person who wrote that article, which means he’s still around.
That possibility sends a chill down my spine. Maybe he’s still watching.
But why would he send me this letter? It doesn’t make sense. He wants the world to know that I’m with Dax and now he wants me to leave Dax? Besides, this letter shows concern for Shanna. Worry, even. There was none of that in the article. On the contrary, that article was full of a blatant disregard for Shanna’s welfare.
Is he trying to confuse me? Hasn’t he done enough? What is he…?
My thoughts stop in their tracks as my eyes go back to the letter and something new occurs to me.
Wait. I recognize that handwriting. I’ve seen it somewhere before.
I pick up the piece of paper, push my eyeglasses up the bridge of my nose, and peer through them to examine the words more closely.
Yup. I’ve seen this before, especially how this person wrote Shanna’s name. If I’m not mistaken, it’s the same way the mysterious sender, the one who sends the packages with tulip blooms, writes it.
There’s one way to be sure.
I take the envelope with me and go to the attic where I’ve saved all the boxes from Shanna’s mysterious benefactor. I grab the latest one and put my letter – I guess it’s more of a note, really – right on top of it to do a side-by-side comparison of the handwriting.
It’s exactly the same.
My eyebrows furrow. I’m confused. So Ms. Tulip – I’ve decided after that last package that she must be a woman because of that stylish dress she sent, though I always had a feeling she was one – knows Dax? How? How well? Why is she saying Dax isn’t good for Shanna?
I sit on a stool and sigh. If only I knew who she was. Why won’t she come forward?
Suddenly, I hear a crack. Before I can find out where it came from, the stool I’m sitting on collapses. I fall and hit the floor on my side.
Ouch.
Instead of picking myself up at once, I rest my head on the floor. I suddenly feel so tired.
I perk up, though, when I catch a glimpse of something red and shiny seemingly hidden behind some boxes. What is that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen it before.
I imagine it’s some old toy I had as a child. Instead, after I push some boxes aside, I find a red tin box with an angel on the cover. It’s dusty, but after I blow away the dust, the beauty of the box becomes obvious.
Who could it have belonged to?
I open it carefully. The first thing I see is a photo of a pregnant woman. It’s torn across the middle and then taped again, so I can’t recognize the face at first. Upon closer inspection, though, I recognize her eyes and the necklace with the letter ‘H’. Most people think it stands for her first name, Helen, but it actually stands for my father’s last name, Holt. He gave it to her on their honeymoon.
