“You have a brother?”
Dad nodded.
“Older by three years.”
“Alive?”
Another nod.
“As far as I know.”
I felt something inside me shift.
Not anger exactly.
More like discovering a hallway in a house where I had lived my entire life.
“Why have we never heard of him?”
Dad looked at the old drawing.
“Because I was stubborn.”
Mom sighed.
“Both of them were stubborn.”
“That too.”
He began slowly.
Luis had been the first son.
Charismatic, restless, funny.
Dad described him as the kind of person who could walk into a room knowing nobody and leave with three dinner invitations.
Granddad expected both sons to work with wood.
Dad loved it.
Luis did not.
“He wanted to travel,” Dad said. “Photography, mostly.”
That explained an old camera I remembered finding in Granddad’s closet.
“When Granddad started planning this workshop, he assumed Luis would come back.”
“But he didn’t?” Derek asked.
