“Oh, Aidan. After all these years!” Mrs. McCarthy clasped her hands together as tears glistened in her eyes, too.

I reached into the belly of the chest and gently pulled out something familiar in both shape and sight.

I held the book out onto my lap, and Scooter sniffed it curiously, only to turn away with a grimace.

I, on the other hand, went slack jawed over the small possession.

“I never thought I’d see these books again…”

One by one, I pulled the aged tomes out.

“Ah…I remember this one because mom told me that I’d read it when I was older.”

I observed the collection of Edgar Allan Poe’s poems, setting it next to my knee.

In my hand went again, each time grasping onto a thread of the past and yanking upwards into my line of vision.

“I had wondered where this had gone…where did you say you found it?”

“In the basement, dearie.”

“I see.”

We were both silent, as if this was a great treasure; and it was.

These books were loved and revered.

They’d never get lost again.