A chill crept through me.
“What kind of lock?”
“I don’t remember.”
She looked at the key again.
“But I remember thinking it was an odd question.”
On Saturday morning, Noah stood quietly in the kitchen while I made pancakes.
He barely touched his breakfast.
Finally he asked, “Are we going somewhere?”
I looked up.
“Why?”
He shrugged.
“I had a dream about Dad.”
My heart tightened.
“What happened?”
“He said we were late.”
“Late for what?”
“I don’t know.”
He stared at the key lying beside my coffee mug.
Then he whispered, almost to himself, “He said I’d know.”
I reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
“We’re not doing anything until you’re ready.”
He looked at me for a long time.
Then he nodded.
“I think I’m ready now.”
“For what?”
He climbed down from his chair.
Without another word, he walked to the back door.
He led me through the back gate and into the woods where he and Ethan had spent Sunday mornings on what they called their adventure trail.
They never told me everything they did out there.
Sometimes they’d come home with muddy boots and pockets full of acorns. Sometimes Noah would insist they’d discovered a pirate fort or a dragon’s cave.
