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Weekly Contest #103
The first postcard arrived the day I turned 17. On the front was a photo of a beach -- not one that I could recognize, and there was nothing, no location name or anything, to give any indication of where it could be. On the back were the words "Happy Birthday, Love, Dad (and Alex)" as well as a name and address, but it wasn't addressed to me. The address was mine, yes, but the name was not. "Martin Deane" it said, in rough, informal writing. I had never met anyone named Martin Deane, and neither had my parents, and my house had been ...
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