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taking a media research class and this sounds intriguing.”
    She studied her son with renewed interest. “I’ll show you the letter when we get home. And there’s something else I want you to see.”
    “Look out, Jessica Fletcher.”
    “Not hardly. But I have so many questions.”
    Evan kept his eyes glued to the winding mountain highway, but concentration pinched the muscles of his jaw. The telltale sign confessed his absorption in deep thought, a mirror of his father’s. “Now I’m curious.”
    “It would’ve been so much easier to just ask your grandmother.”
    Evan agreed in a methodically slow nod.
    Ponderosas passed in a blur. Sleet splattered against the windshield as they navigated the curves through Arizona’s Mogollon Rim. The more miles that separated her from the cemetery, the closer she was to a life alone. To answers she didn’t truly want to know. Though warm inside the Tahoe, she shivered. Ryleigh’s right hand swept to her left and she twisted a ring no longer there. The automatic gesture twisted nothing but the ghostly shadow of what once had been.

     
    By dusk, the temperature had dropped dramatically. The wind skipped through town in fitful gusts depositing whirls of leaves in heaps. Intermittent waves of nickel-sized snowflakes feathered the sky and the shades of evening fell over Hidden Falls. Kingsley was curled contentedly at the end of the sofa engrossed in a cat bath.
    Ryleigh retrieved the envelope Pastor Edwards had given her and sat next to Evan. Annoyed at the jostling, Kingsley peered at Evan, jumped off the sofa and strutted off.
    “I didn’t do it, you poor excuse for a cat. Go do something constructive like puke up a fur ball.”
    Ryleigh glared at him.
    “Okay, okay.” Evan raised his hands in resignation. “I’ll try to be nice to the mangy critter.”
    Ryleigh removed the policy and skimmed the information, Evan reading over her shoulder. Ryleigh’s hand flew to her forehead.
    “I guess Gram wanted to take care of you.”
    “Mom didn’t have any money for things like this. She barely made ends meet.”
    Frowning, she returned the papers to the envelope and removed a sheet of stationery. She ran her finger curiously over the embossed fireflies.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing, it’s just fireflies…” She rose. “Come with me.”
    Evan followed her to the study. Ryleigh retrieved the journal from the desk and motioned for Evan to pull up a chair beside her. Without thinking, she pressed her palm to the stained cover. Her stomach fluttered.
    “Looks old.”
    She handed him the journal and watched his eyes move rhythmically through the verses and duly noted his expression, a reflection of hers.
    When he’d finished reading, he looked at her with a deer-in-the-headlights stare. “Who wrote these? Fireflies are significant, there’s no doubt,” he pondered. “But why?”
    “Don’t know the answer to the ‘why’ or the ‘who.’”
    “Want to give another one a shot?” Evan’s eyes shone with anticipation. She understood the feeling. “Aloud?”
    She nodded. “You read. I’ll listen.”
    Evan turned a few pages and stopped. “This one’s called ‘Beside You.’
     
    ‘When raindrops dance upon your windowpane
    or turn to a blanket of new-fallen snow—
    and transform the earth to tranquil hill and vale
    I’m there beside you, as the stillness quietly grows.
     
    When a seedling emerges with the first breath of spring
    or trees once barren burst forth in budding grace—
    and the breeze wafts warmly against your skin
    I’m there beside you, in subtle embrace.
     
    When you hear the symphony of summer birds
    or listen closely to the flutter of butterfly wings—
    and hear the harmony of a wind chime’s notes
    I’m there beside you, as the soft breeze sings.
     
    When the wind whispers and gently graces your cheek
    or whips golden autumn leaves upon the ground—
    and chases chasms of sunlight into the dusk
    I’m there beside you, just take a