Cooper lunged toward it at once, but Brian held him back. The lid was warped shut. Brian hesitated only a moment before prying it open. A stale rush of damp air escaped. Inside, under a small striped scarf and a crushed old juice box, lay a stack of photographs, a bundle of letters tied in faded ribbon, and a cassette tape wrapped in a cloudy freezer bag.
Brian lifted the tape first. The label was blurred, but two words were still readable. For Jamie. He looked back into the box. There was also a tiny toy car, a hair ribbon, and a folded card with shaky silver stars on the front. Across it, in uneven block letters, someone had written: OPEN TOGETHER