I got down on my knees and ran my fingers along the bottom joist by the baseboard.

Behind the outlet cover in the back corner, a six-inch piece of white trim was loose, sitting a fraction of an inch off the drywall.

I worked the flat tip of my house key into the seam and pried the trim out.

A rolled tube of yellowed paper slid out of the wall cavity and dropped against my knee.

I picked it up, unrolled the stiff paper across my lap, and held it under the closet light.

It was the original 1984 land abstract, stamped with the gold foil seal my mother had pressed on it forty years ago.