I followed.
He stopped beside the stone foundation where the second building had once stood.
“This is where he taught me to use a plane.”
Derek joined us.
Then Mom.
Then Veronica.
For a while, nobody discussed budgets or permits.
We simply stood there while Dad remembered.
That evening, back at the house, he took the rusty key from his pocket.
He placed it on the kitchen table.
“I carried this for nearly forty years.”
Mom touched the blue thread.
“And now?”
Dad looked at Derek and me.
“I think I was wrong about what it protected.”
He slid the key toward the center of the table.
“It wasn’t protecting papers.”
I looked at him.
“What was it protecting?”
Dad smiled.
“A conversation we weren’t ready to have.”
Then he unfolded Granddad’s drawing beside it.
For the first time, I noticed something faint written in the lower corner.
