“Sophie.”
My granddaughter did not let go.
Rebecca’s eyes filled, but her voice stayed defensive.
“Dad showed it to me.”
The room became still.
I stared at her.
“What?”
Rebecca pressed her lips together.
Paul took one step closer.
“When?”
She looked at the piano.
“Before he died.”
My fingers tightened around Sophie’s.
“How long before?”
Rebecca rubbed both palms over her face.
“Three weeks.”
Eighteen months of grief seemed to shift under my feet.
Thomas had been weak by then. Tired all the time. But still Thomas. Still joking with nurses. Still reminding me where he had hidden the good flashlight even though I had known for thirty years.
Rebecca’s voice became smaller.
“He asked me to come over when you were at the pharmacy.”
I could see it as she spoke.
Thomas in his reading chair.
Rebecca beside him.
The piano across the room.
“He made me help him move the bench,” she said. “Then he showed me the plate.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“He said he’d put it there years ago.”
