MY SON SPENT HIS LUNCH MONEY ON A LITTLE GIRL’S BIRTHDAY DRESS. THE NEXT MORNING, SOMEONE LEFT FIFTY LUNCHBOXES ON OUR LAWN — AND ONE OF THEM CONTAINED A LETTER THAT HAD BEEN WAITING NINE YEARS TO BE READ.

Then he pointed.

“That one wasn’t supposed to be there.”

In the middle of the lawn sat an old metal lunchbox.

It was scratched and dented, the kind of thing a child might have carried to school twenty or thirty years ago.

A piece of paper had been taped to the top.