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“Oh, yeah? When’d she tell you that?”

“Last night. She said dat Momma was all better. And she telled me not to worry ‘bout her.”

Sounds exactly like something Maw Maw Day would say, and I chuckle, running my hand through his messy, cropped hair. “Well, that was nice of Maw Maw to tell you that.”

“Yep. And she also telled me to tell you not to worry, eider. She said she woves you. And dat you are still her ‘tit ziwondelle.”

Frowning, I try to absorb what he’s just said. A tremble vibrates beneath my skin at the sound of the nickname she used to call me when I was a little girl. One I haven’t heard in years.

“Justin, where’d you hear that? Don’t play, okay? Tell me the truth.”

“It’s da twuf. Maw Maw did telled me dat.”

“No,” I argue. “Remember we told you Maw Maw isn’t here no more? She’s not alive.”

“I know dat.”

“So you couldn’t have talked to her.”

“But I did. I’m not wying, Tante Brie.”

“I’m not … I’m not saying you’re lyin’ … I just wanna know who told you that.”

“I telled you. Maw Maw did. She also said not to put too much sugar in your coffee. It’s bad for your teef.”

Blinking back the tears, I clear my throat, and staring off, I take a moment to process what he’s saying. Something I’ve never personally believed in. Even as a child, when I sometimes saw spectral images of my mother, it was hard for me to grasp the notion that she was real. Or that she might be watching over me. But what if it was true? What if she had been watching over me all this time? What if Maw Maw did visit Justin the night before?

A burst of tearful laughter escapes me as I pull my nephew in for a tight hug and plant another kiss to the top of his head. “Well, you see Maw Maw again, you tell her Tante Brie loves her, okay?”

“She knows.”

Nodding, I wipe the tears from my cheeks and pat his back. “Okay, we need to go.”

He skips off toward the car, and I take the length of the walk to wipe away any residual tears, or smeared mascara. When I reach the passenger door, the mail truck rolls to a stop at the end of the driveway, blocking me.

He climbs out, carrying an envelope as he strides toward me. “Brie Dejarae?”

“I’m Brie.”

“I’m going to need your signature.” He twists around an electronic clipboard for me to sign, and hands me the envelope. The return address is labeled Fairy Godmother in Fairyland.

What the hell?

“Who is this from?”

The postman shrugs and glances toward Justin in the backseat. “I’m guessing the fairy godmother,” he says before heading back toward his truck.

Smartass.

Reluctant to open it at first, I hold the envelope up to the sky in an effort to make out what’s inside, but it seems to have a security layer. On a huff, I tear through it. “Sure as hell hope this isn’t anthrax, or something. Just my luck,” I mutter.

Once opened, I find a note wrapped around what appears to be a cashier’s check to the amount of one-hundred thousand dollars. Heart pounding in my throat, I unfold the letter to find two simple words scrawled across it.

Si seulement ...

They blur behind the shield of tears in my eyes. Slapping a shaky hand to my mouth, I look around to see if anyone is watching me right now, my mind in a state of disbelief.

“Tante Brie, what’s wong?”