“What is that paper?” I asked.
Daniel stared straight ahead at the windshield, his hand remaining on the key without turning it.
“Just some notes from the shop,” he said.
The engine sputtered to life, the loud rumble of the exhaust filling the quiet cab.
I knew his shop notes were kept on white receipt paper, never yellow legal pads.
I watched his fingers grip the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he put the truck in reverse.
We turned onto the main road, the rain finally beginning to spot the dusty windshield.
We drove past the old feed store and the hardware shop where Daniel bought his brass fittings.
The town was quiet on a Tuesday afternoon, the traffic light on Tenth Street blinking yellow.
“Connor has a new project manager,” Daniel said as we waited for the light to change. “Some guy from Orlando who wears a suit even when it is ninety degrees out.”
“My father told me about him,” I said. “He said they are planning to tear down the whole block near the creek.”
“That includes the cottage, Sav.”
“They can’t tear it down if they don’t own it yet,” I said. “But my mother said the sale is already in probate.”
Daniel didn’t say anything to that. He just stared at the yellow light until it turned green, then shifted the truck into second gear with a loud grind.
“We are going to my parents’ house first,” I said.
“I need to get the rest of my things before my father gets home.”
Daniel did not look at me, but his hand moved back to his jacket pocket, pressing against the paper as if to make sure it was still there.
“We do not have to do this today, Sav,” he said.
“I want my grandmother’s old photo albums,” I said.
“And my mother said if I did not get them by tonight, she was throwing them in the bin.”
The windshield wipers made a dry, scraping sound against the glass as the first heavy drops fell.
Daniel took a slow breath, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
“Your grandmother loved that cottage,” he said.
“She did,” I said. “But it is gone now.”
He did not correct me, but his jaw remained clenched as he turned the truck toward the brick suburbs.
The yellow envelope was still visible, a sharp contrast against the dark wool of his coat.
