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Dear Amber,How are you doing, honey? We haven’t heard back from you, but that’s okay. We’ll keep writing. Maybe the more you get to know about us, the more you’ll see that we are good people. Allen says you are probably afraid. And of course, that’s understandable. You have no idea what kind of people we are. But through these letters, I hope you’ll see there’s nothing to fear.A newspaper reporter knocked on our door yesterday. I wonder if the same was true for you? I know this will probably be disruptive to your life. I wish it didn’t have to be that way, but we don’t know what else to do. We want to know you so badly—to have a relationship with you.Today was a beautiful spring day, so I went for a long walk in our neighborhood. The tulips are starting to bloom. I love tulips. We have lots of red and yellow ones planted in our front yard. They’re my favorite flower.I’m wondering, what’s yours?Love,Jeanie and Allen treasure hunt
I sit in the cool sand,
my mind drifting
like wood on water.
A few years ago
we stayed at a beach house,
Dad, Mom, Kelly, and I.
When we were almost ready to head home,
Mom insisted the three of us get
one last fill of the ocean,
as if we were fragile sea creatures,
needing the water
to survive.
When we got down to the beach,
Dad started running and said,
“Ten minutes to find a treasure.
The winner of the best treasure
gets to pick the music for the ride home.”
Kelly yelled out,
“I’m winning this one, Jelly!”
I threw my head back and laughed.
We hadn’t played Treasure Hunt
since Kelly and I were little.
We used to play all the time—
at the park,
on a hike,
even in our own backyard.
I skipped across the sand, the breeze
catching my shirt,
exposing my belly, white
as a seagull’s.
I laughed again.
Across the beach,
Dad and Kelly
scoured the wet sand,
no doubt searching for
one of Mother Nature’s
lost jewels.
My eyes scanned
the dry sand
by the piles of driftwood.
I dug with my hands,
searching for
a buried treasure,
until my arms
became heavy.
I climbed the pile,
searching the other side,
and then
something glistened
in the sun:
a blue-and-silver fishing lure
complete with a hook.
An amazing treasure,
especially since I was saving someone
from being caught in the foot.
Dad waved his arms,
telling us time
was up.
Kelly showed us her find first:
a golden rock, an agate,
clear and smooth.
When I showed them mine, Dad said,
“An in-line spinner.
Very nice!”
And then, with his fists closed tight,
he turned his hands over and slowly
spread his fingers
wide open
like a sea anemone
in a tide pool.
Kelly and I gasped
when we saw
what he held.
Two silver chains
with a tiny
silver dollar charm
on the end of each one.
After Kelly—always the affectionate child—
gave him a hug,
she said, “But you don’t win, right?
You didn’t find it.
The rules are you have to find it.”
Affectionate and competitive.
“Kel, I think we both win.
Thanks, Dad.
I love it.”
“Me, too,”
Kelly echoed.
“But who picks the—”
I tapped her on the shoulder
and yelled, “You’re it!”
intentionally ending one game
and beginning another.
Of course she chased me,
because that’s what little sisters do.
And of course I let her choose
the music on the car ride home,
because that’s what big sisters do.
They let their
little sisters
win.
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