“But he thought he was helping.”
“Yes.”
“What should he have done?”
“Told me.”
“Even if the truth might make you upset?”
“Especially then.”
Maddie looked thoughtful.
“That’s what I did.”
“Yes.”
“I told you even though Dad asked me not to.”
“Yes.”
“Because keeping it secret felt worse.”
“Yes.”
She smiled slightly.
“Then I did the right thing.”
“You did.”
“Even though it was hard.”
“Especially because it was hard.”
Then she asked,
“Did Grandpa write about me?”
“He did.”
Her eyes widened.
“What did he say?”
“That you would pay attention to things.”
She grinned.
“He knew that before I was born?”
“Yes.”
“Was he right?”
“Very.”
She looked around the room.
“So he’s kind of still here.”
“In a way.”
“In the house?”
“Yes.”
“In the walls?”
I laughed.
“In the walls.”
She considered that.
“People leave things behind even after they’re gone.”
“They do.”
“And if you pay attention, sometimes you find them.”
I looked at her.
“Exactly.”
Later that evening, Brian and I sat at the kitchen table drinking tea.
The hole in the living-room wall was still visible from where we sat.
The couch was still pulled forward.
The letters rested on the counter.
“My grandmother hid money in these walls,” I said.
Brian nodded.
“My father hid letters.”
“Yes.”
“I wonder what else is here.”
He looked toward the opening.
“Do you want to find out?”
“Not tonight.”
FULL STORY on the next page.