Madelyn "Lyn" Creeke and her grandmother were the last of their family. At least, that's what Lyn's grandmother always led her to believe.
Lyn had never heard of or seen pictures of Georgina Creeke, a great aunt that had been living a few hours awa...
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Collected on top of my newly discovered treasure trove was a stack of unopened letters addressed to my father and marked to be returned to sender. I lifted the neat bundle up, brushing my fingers over my dad's name. I wondered if it would be right for me to open them. At that moment, though, I still had other papers to sort through, so saved that dilemma for later. I put the letters aside and pulled out a few opened envelopes. They were from my grandmother. Her letters peeked out from the torn envelopes, but I knew that venom likely dripped from the ink she wrote with. I didn't need to delve into that feud when I was already feeling so downtrodden over Jordan's abrupt end to our dinner.
Putting those letters aside, I came upon a pile of various memories cluttered together at the bottom of the box—photos, ticket stubs, concert fliers. It took a while to piece them together and to see the larger picture forming before me. It all began to click when I looked over a photograph of a young starlet sitting together with some musicians in a small, dirty apartment. Her smile was naïve and full of hope. Then, my eyes glanced up at a picture hanging on the wall of a teenage Georgina hugging a youthful version of my grandfather.
"This is Gina," I mumbled. "She... she was trying to be a singer?"
At first, I hadn't picked up on it because she wasn't using her name. Instead, the name Sparrow Creeke kept appearing on the various bits of memorabilia. She'd been performing under an alias and, based on the similarities in her face between the picture in my hand and the one on the wall, she was quite young when she did it.
I didn't know what I had in my hands, but I knew it was important and I knew it was a crucial moment in the life of my great aunt. A moment that would have to be featured on one of our Christmas trees along the drive. I didn't quite know what to do with that, but I knew I needed to get my journal back to stitch Gina's story together. I also needed to let Jordan know I'd found this treasure chest of lost history. It may have even been enough to turn his night back around.
I ran over to the intercom in my room and signaled for Jordan. He didn't reply. I tried a couple more times, to no avail.
"Jordan, listen. I realize you're upset, but I need to talk to you. I found a box underneath Gina's bed. It's full of pictures and letters and... Look, it would be easier if I could show you. Won't you come up or I could go down there?"
I waited for a response, but it never came.
"Fine," I said, holding down the intercom, "I'll go down to you. I just need to get my shoes and coat."
Collecting everything back into the box, I took it with me downstairs before bundling up. I then raced through the yard, doing my best to recall its layout since Jordan had no lights on to guide me to his house.
I nearly stumbled headfirst into the work shed, but stopped just short of the collision. Then I dragged my hand along the wall, following it to the small apartment attached at the other end. Taking a few cautious steps up to his door, I gave it a swift knock.
