GENRE: Young Adult
Mom always warned against pulling stray threads. After all, my mother was a practical woman. One pulled thread could unravel a whole garment. And since we could afford only to patch a hole it was infinitely better to avoid getting one in the first place. Still, I can't help but stare at this shimmering yarn poking from the sleeve of my well-worn sweater.
I want to yank it loose.
I twirl it instead and do my best to focus on the moon-faced lawyer seated before me. I wish he’d get to the point. I wish he’d stop prattling on about the weather and explain why he summoned me here to the port city of Boston – to this grand, but cold, marble-floored room overlooking the bustling harbor and tall ships gliding silently past. Stuffed in my pocket, his cryptic letter crinkles with each impatient shift of my legs. I feel the envelope wax crack. Wax, of all things. Who sends wax-sealed letters anymore? As if it’s the nineteenth century and not the twenty-first. As if e-mail and telephones don’t exist in this parallel universe of antique wood furniture, leather chairs and silver fountain pens.
“So, Miss Jordan.” The lawyer clears his throat. He sweats, even though this office is freezing, and sports a haphazard comb-over that would likely unravel with one pull, too. “Miss Jordan, I assume you’d like to know why I asked you here today.”
I drop the thread and nod, even though the knot in my stomach tells me I might not want to hear the answer.