She touched one.
“Should we put everything back?”
I looked around.
“Should we put everything back?”
For six years, I’d kept their belongings because some part of me thought moving them meant moving away from the people who owned them.
I finally understood differently.
“No. We started.” I picked up a box. “We finish.”
***
A few days later, we met Dean, Ben, and his grandfather near the lake.
I finally understood differently.
I brought one of my sons’ fishing rods.
Ben stared when I offered it.
“He would’ve hated seeing a good rod sit in a closet,” I said.
Ben took it carefully.
Dean stood beside me, looking toward the water.
“I’ve spent six years thinking an empty place on that boat belonged to me.”
“He would’ve hated seeing a good rod sit in a closet.”
I looked at the orange whistle in the grandfather’s hand.
