Brandon didn’t answer.
He walked down the aisle.
Then he placed the suitcase on the floor in front of Lisa.
He reached for the zipper.
Barbara’s smile vanished.
“Brandon.”
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He ignored her.
“Brandon, don’t open that here.”
Now she looked nervous.
Really nervous.
I remembered Lisa making me promise not to inspect that bag.
For the first time, I wondered what she had packed inside.
Brandon looked at his mother.
“There’s something you need to see before you say another word.”
Then he opened the suitcase.
Inside were normal things.
Pajamas.
A stuffed rabbit.
Two shirts.
Socks.
Glittery sandals.
Brandon carefully moved them aside.
Underneath was a handmade picture frame.
Bright blue cardboard.
Gold glitter.
Cheap plastic jewels glued unevenly around the edges.
Inside was a photograph of Brandon and Lisa together at one of her soccer games.
Across the top, in crooked craft letters, she had written:
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