She was looking for the car registration when she found the letter. Folded, yellowed along the crease. Her name on the envelope in his handwriting. From eight years ago, the summer of the house with the blue shutters. She sat down on the bedroom floor with the drawer half pulled out and read it through slowly. The phrases he'd used back then, the careful funny ones. The paragraph about the cat. She could hear his voice exactly. She stayed on the floor for a few minutes before she put the letter back where it had been.
