Grandma suddenly grabbed my hand.
Her fingers were trembling.
“Grandma… what’s wrong?”
She didn’t answer.
Two minutes later, the manager appeared.
He was carrying an old cardboard box from the store’s back office.
The second Grandma saw the date printed across its lid, she paled.
“Oh God…”
The manager placed the box on the counter.
He looked directly at my grandmother.
Then slowly reached for the lid.
But before opening it, he turned toward the security guard.
“Daniel, please let everyone through.”
The guard stepped aside.
“I’m sorry,” the manager told the shoppers. “There has been a misunderstanding.”
The woman behind us folded her arms.
“I should think so. I want to know why we were stopped.”
The manager nodded.
“Of course, ma’am.”
Then he opened the box.
Inside lay a yellowed newspaper.
Several photographs.
A carefully folded letter.
Across the box’s lid, beneath the department store’s faded gold emblem, were printed words Grandma had already seen.
