Elena turned to me. “Arthur also created a charitable fund for young adults who have been raised by relatives after parental separation. It will be administered through the county family services office.”
I pictured the five-year-old on the porch with a stuffed rabbit and three garbage bags.
“He did that?”
“He asked me to arrange it after his diagnosis.”
I surveyed the worn desk, framed photos, and cracked-spine books.
Grandpa repaired engines for a living, believing broken things could work again. I realized he had tried to repair my world the same way.
Mom’s voice was quiet. “He always thought ahead.”
“He thought about what I would need,” I said.
She lowered her eyes.
Elena continued, “As for the truck, Lena, you can tell them whether they may remove anything.”
The answer should have been easy. They came expecting Grandpa’s furniture, tools, and appliances.
I didn’t want revenge. I wanted them to understand the house was no longer theirs to enter.
“You can take your personal belongings,” I said. “Anything that belonged specifically to you. Nothing else.”
Mom surveyed the room. “There are things your father gave us over the years.”
“If you can identify them, we’ll set them aside.”
“And the tools?”
“Those go to the school.”
Dad glanced toward the garage, his face softening with grief.
“He would have liked that.”
“I think so.”
For the next hour, we sorted the house together.
My parents now hesitated at every doorway. Mom found a china bowl from her wedding years, while Dad found an old fishing reel and a teenage photo of himself.
Claire helped carry family photos to the sitting room. We had almost none together—mostly her baby pictures, some of Grandpa and me, and one summer picnic photo from when I was eight.
In it, Claire sat on Dad’s shoulders while I stood beside Grandpa with a paper plate. We both smiled.
“I don’t remember you being there.”
“I was.”
“I know. I just don’t remember seeing you.”
The admission hurt, but wasn’t cruel.
“I don’t remember seeing you either,” I said.
She touched the photo’s edge. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it. I was old enough to understand that you weren’t there anymore, but not old enough to understand why. They told me you were happy with Grandpa. They said you had a better room and a bigger yard.”
“I did have a bigger yard.”
“That wasn’t the point.”
