The Realtor Read One Name and My Stepfather Stopped Laughing

the edge of the notepad. “Honestly? I don’t know for sure.”

That was true. Sort of.

Dad had shown me the inventory. He had not shown me every object.

Just once, when I was sixteen, I’d seen him kneeling by the toolbox with a paper bundle in his hands. He slid it into the drawer and locked it. When he stood up, he said, “If that ever goes missing, it means continue reading …