Chapter 17 - Words from a Concrete Box
The letter read:
I hope you're keeping your hands warm. The winters here are longer than you remember, and the concrete floors never quite lose the frost. I found a cookie under my cell bunk yesterday. I didn't move it.
The boy stared at the words for a long time, watching the way the ink smudged slightly near the bottom corner, as if the pen had slipped or a tear had fallen onto the page.
Sarah reached across the table, her fingers gently covering his hand—the hand with the scarred, slightly crooked fingers that could now grip a pencil, a baseball bat, and a future without shaking.
"What do you want to do with it?" she asked softly.
The boy didn't hesitate. He took the letter, folded it into a tight square, walked over to the old metal wood-stove in the corner of the room, and tossed it straight into the glowing embers.
May you like
He watched the paper curl, turn black, and dissolve into a wisp of gray smoke that vanished up the chimney into the salty coastal air.
"There's nothing left to read," he said simply.
