It’s like archeology, thought Cassie, digging through the layers of a life. On top were postcards from a recent vacation, older letters underneath, and down in the depths the fractured treasures of years forgotten and gone: Grandma’s memory box.
Dust drifted in the cold attic air, making her sneeze. Easier to throw it all out. Just forget and move on.
But she sliced her finger, paper-cut bleeding on the page, then wrapped a Kleenex over it like a Band-Aid on the past.
Archeology takes the details apart. But Cassie was digging through memories so she could put them back together.