“Zia?” Little began again, cautiously, reasoning that her aunt’s upbeat mood was as good a reason as any to bring up uncomfortable subjects. “There are a couple of things that I was wondering about.” She felt Sira’s arm stiffen slightly, though her expression did not change. “I found a letter, back in San Francisco, among the things I had grabbed that used to be papà’s.” She pulled the folded piece of paper that she had carefully stowed in her pocket that morning and handed it to Sira, who took it slowly. “Do you know anything about this? It’s typewritten, so I can’t figure anything out from the handwriting, although it mentions Delila, so I think Dad wrote it to her, but then why would he have it…”
Sira had stopped and was looking down at the page in front of her as though she could make
