“Meet me by The Intertwined tonight,” the note said.
Nate trembled. He fingered the rough edge of the faded construction paper and the sensation lifted him into memories filled with the scent of glue and the sounds of children.
It’s been how many years since? Thirty. At least.
He inspected the note again, as if expecting more words to appear among the scrawled letters on the hand-torn bit of yellowed-green. None did.
It was not signed, but even after all this time there would be no mistaking it. Not by him.
Kindergarten sweetheart and schoolyard tormentor, both.
What did she want? Where had she been? Why write him now? Why him? Why this way?
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