Eighteen Years After Ray Abandoned Him on a Dirt Road, Thomas Found His Mother’s Letter

I parked on the public shoulder with my hazards on and stayed behind the white line.

The pavilion frame rose over Diane’s lilacs.

Uncle Pete was at the far end of the ridge beam with a nail gun in his hand.

Two men from his crew were handing up rafters.

A red survey stake stood in the grass by the water with orange ribbon tied at the top.

Pete looked down at me.

“You’re at four hundred ninety feet, Tom.

Don’t be at four eighty, now.”