I walked down the gravel alley behind my back fence to the wooden storage shed Grace and I shared.

The rusty iron latch gave easily to the spare key Grace had handed me on her front porch.

Inside, the shed smelled of cedar sawdust, dry lawn fertilizer and old motor oil.

I went past two lawn mowers to the green metal trunk our family had kept in the corner since 1992.

The padlock that normally hung from the front clasp was missing.

I raised the heavy pine lid and pushed aside three folded wool army blankets.