“Clara,” I said, wiping my face with the back of my hand. “Do you need any help with that wash on the line?”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d love some, Ruth. The wind is starting to pick up.”

We walked out onto the porch together. The air was cold, but the sun felt warm on my face. I still had to drive back home, and I still had to tell my sister about the box in my trunk. We had a lot of years to talk about, and a lot of tears to cry. But for the first time in my life, I wasn’t driving into the dark. I was walking toward the light.