Page 1: June 7, 2021 My dear friend, This is it : it’s well and truly the end of the road for our letters from Aunt G herself. There are lots of stories in other family letters about her school, which she ran for the entire rest of her life, and of her travels. She visited Derbyshire as often as possible. And every summer she apparently closed her eyes and pointed at a place on a map of North America, then went there, however she needed to make it happen — horse, boat, house flown by thousands of multicolored balloons, I don’t know, I’m not actually a historian! And she did it all with “her gardener” by her side. I’m so proud of her. And I see her all through my family: In my mom going back to school and becoming a journalist at 43. In my grandma picking up and moving to America because she heard a certain great-aunt did it, so why couldn’t she? At great-great-great-great-great-aunt Kitty figuring herself out, finding love, and becoming an artist, recognition or not. You know that painting I’ve carted around with me from apartment to apartment because it’s the one that made me want to be an artist? Turns out it was a Kitty Bennet original! You know who else I see? Hank. I cannot believe you knew him all along, and that we were Somewhere Out There-ing each other this whole time! I was so anxious about messaging him (yes, guilty, I Googled), only to find out he was thinking of doing the very same. When the pieces all fell into place, it felt like this timeline wasn’t so wrong after all. He got here yesterday, bringing a bunch of the most astonishing wildflowers and. . . well, I’ll save the best for last. But even from a distance, and even after all these years, we just knew. Is that ridiculous? You know what, I don’t even care if it is! Who knows — we didn’t even touch, but it’s just. . . potential. You know? I think you know.