a deadly storm, an unsolved disappearance, and a small town brimming with secrecy;
an outcast girl, a boy who only knows how to hide, and the world against them;
what could go wrong?
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Martha's house doesn't offer anything of merit, much to Boo and Harry's dismay-the cliff is still scattered with a layer of debris, and the only possessions left intact are now in the trunk of Boo's car. Harry helps her haul the boxes into her apartment, where they spend upwards of an hour carefully combing through each item.
By the time her phone rings that afternoon, the better half of her living room floor is covered with Martha's leftover possessions: old photographs, random pieces of jewelry, assorted trinkets, a handknitted gray blanket with a jagged hole in one corner, and a few other odds and ends. Harry is still only halfway through his first box, as he keeps getting distracted by the baseball game on the television.
Boo has to refrain from yelling several curse words when she sees Frank's name flashing across her screen. Ever since Martha's funeral, she's all but completely abandoned her job at the hardware store.
"What is it?" Harry asks, upon hearing her dramatic groan. She glances over to see him poring through a stack of waterlogged photographs.
"Forgot I was supposed to go to work today," she laments. The phone continues to buzz in her hand but she doesn't make a move to answer. "Oh well. If I get fired then it's probably a blessing in disguise. That job is unbearable anyhow."
Harry chuckles to himself while flipping to the next picture in his hands. "Some of these pictures look like they're from the fifties or sixties."
"Probably are," Boo remarks, tossing her phone onto the couch and continuing her search. "Nana was a packrat, couldn't get rid of anything. Her attic was like a hoarder's dream come true."
"Really?" he says, raising an eyebrow. Boo nods and pulls out a small ring box; when she opens it, she sees nothing but a broken cross necklace.
Her attention is snagged when Harry holds up a picture for her to see. "Is this Martha?"
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Boo smiles softly; Martha's familiar features are young, pristine, untouched yet by years of heartache. "Yeah, that's her. She was probably seventeen or eighteen in that photo."
Harry flips the picture around and studies it for a moment before a hint of a smile curves onto his lips. "She was very beautiful. I see where you get it now."
