Not the plated junk.

This’ll outlast both of us.”

“Good,” I said.

“That’s the whole idea.”

Down the block a dog walked a man past the frozen rosebush, and the wind blew in off the harbor and rattled the porch light.

Pete installed the lock, worked the bolt twice, and handed me two new keys on a wire ring.

I pulled my father’s key out of my coat pocket and laid it on the railing.

It was worn thin at the shoulder, dark at the bow, almost smooth.