I picked up the box. It was heavier than I’d expected. Something weighty shifted inside.I looked up to see Sally’s wide-eyed stare.  her mouth dropping open. “Wha—wha—what’s that?” she shouted. She took off her other flipflop and carried it as she ran toward me.

             I tightened my grip. “It’s a present,” I said. “For me!” But Sally knelt beside me and grabbed the box. She untied the ribbon and took off the paper, saying, “What is it?”

            “It’s mine,” I muttered. “Finders keepers.”

            I leaned forward for a better look when the paper and ribbon lay on the grass. It was a black cardboard shoebox with the name Calhoun’s picked out in gilt lettering on the lid. Sally opened the lid, looked inside, and just froze. Time stood still. Her face turned a ghostly white. She shoved the lid back on and pushed the box toward me.

            I was surprised at her reaction. I’d been thinking the box must hold something like pretty pebbles or maybe a pack of Uno cards or even some cheap jewelry. Someone’s cast offs or rubbish but potential treasure for Sally and me. I gasped when I lifted the lid and saw a tiny pale form inside, wrapped in a white cloth.

It had a pretty face and a soft fuzz of blonde hair that reminded me of Cassandra. “A doll!” I beamed at Sally. She shook her head slowly, still in shock. I looked inside again. “Shit!” I threw the lid and scooted away on my butt, my hands grabbing at the long grass to help me along.

It wasn’t a doll. It was a baby. Perfectly still. It could have been sleeping, but it wasn’t. Its glassy unblinking eyes had stared out at me. And it looked cold. I hadn’t touched it, but I could just sense there was no warmth of life in that delicate form.

            “Jesus, girl,” Sally said. “When you find something, you find something!”

 I shook my head. “Crazy,” I said. It was a hot day, but I began shivering.

I was shocked. I was scared. But I was also curious. Sally stared as I got on my hands and knees and crawled back towards the box. I stretched in a tentative hand and lifted the top fold of cloth. I saw the baby was naked and pink. And that it was a girl. I sniffed. She gave off a faint soapy smell, like she’d been just washed.

 I had a sudden longing to touch her. It was instinctive. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her not to be frightened, to say that there must be some mistake and that it would be all right.

I stared at the baby’s hands. She had the same perfectly formed tiny fingers and faintly pink nails as Cassandra. “Cassie,” I said. For me, that became the dead baby’s name.