Brian sat back on his heels, the child’s shoe in the mud beside him, Cooper breathing hard at his side, and stared at the box. Someone had buried this on purpose. And whatever story it belonged to had just landed in his yard. Brian carried the box inside and set it on the kitchen table, mud and all. Cooper stayed so close to his leg that Brian nearly tripped over him twice.
Under the overhead light, the contents looked even stranger. The scarf was small, clearly meant for a child. The photographs were stuck together at the corners, but the faces were still visible. A woman. A man. A little boy. In one photo, the three of them stood in front of a much nicer house than this one, smiling as if nothing bad had ever happened to them.