He wouldn’t look at me.
“Did Dad give you this?”
A tiny nod.
“When?”
“The week before he went back to the hospital.”
“What exactly did he say?”
Noah swallowed.
“He said if… if he didn’t come home…” His voice caught. “He said I had to hide the shovel under my bed.”
“And the key?”
“He taped it inside the handle.”
I looked at the shovel again.
Sure enough, a strip of old tape had left a faint outline near the end of the handle.
“He told me not to tell anybody.”
“Not even me?”
Another nod.
“He said you’d know when it was time.”
“When is that?”
“I don’t know.”
His answer sounded painfully honest.
