After the funeral, I had spent six miserable weeks sorting through fifty years of accumulated life.
Christmas decorations.
Old tax returns.
My father’s tools.
My mother’s recipe cards.
Boxes of photographs.
I remembered standing in my childhood bedroom and deciding what pieces of my past were worth keeping.
I’d cried when the new owners changed the mailbox.
I thought that had been the last secret the house could keep from me.
Lucas said, “The couple who bought it renovated the basement last year.”
My heart began beating faster.
“They found a space behind a paneled wall.”
I stared at him.
“A space?”
“A narrow storage compartment. Maybe two feet wide. Someone had built shelving inside.”
I shook my head.
“We never had anything like that.”
“It wasn’t supposed to be found.”
Douglas’s voice was barely more than breath.
Lucas nodded.
“The owners found three boxes. Your mother’s name was on two of them.”
