The next day, Nurse Gloria brought Tobias to the garden window. Della stood outside with me and Mrs. Keene and sang “Happy Birthday” with both hands pressed against the glass.
Tobias pressed his palms against hers from the opposite side.
I cried into my sleeve.
I thought that was the end.
I was wrong.
The following morning, Della and I stood barefoot in the wet grass, staring at the black balloon and the red box.
“Open it, Syd,” she whispered.
I knelt down and lifted the lid.
Inside were Della’s mint tin, a locker key, Tobias’s visitor calendar, and two notes.
I looked at her.
“Della, how did he get your tin?”
Her cheeks turned pink.
“I gave it to him before we left. So he’d remember me.”
I turned the tin over. The old label was still there: Della’s first name, our address, and my phone number.
“That’s how they found us,” I said.
Della opened the tin.
“Syd. It’s full.”
The tin that had once contained $11.40 was now packed with bills and coins.
My hands shook as I unfolded Tobias’s note.
“Della came to my window every day,” I read. “Nobody else did.”
Della leaned against me.
“Mom and Dad send presents, but they don’t stay. I have a locker full of birthdays. Della gave me the only birthday that felt real.”
I stopped.
“Keep reading,” Della whispered.
“Please open the locker. Please don’t let them take me home if they’re only going to leave me alone there too.”
The second note was written on thick cream-colored paper.
“Sydney,
I found your address on Della’s tin. Tobias asked me to send it back full because she gave me her treasure.
The doctors can’t cure him. They’re trying to keep him comfortable and give him good days.
My husband and I haven’t abandoned our son, but we’ve failed him. We pay bills. We answer doctor calls. We send gifts. Then we leave before he opens them because staying hurts.
Tobias is on borrowed time, and his wish was simple.
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