Underneath it, protected from years of snow, was a faded chalk drawing on the fence: a lopsided house with three windows and a sun in one corner.

“You drew that,” he told me.

I couldn’t remember.

I had been very young.

“Your mother let you draw while I fixed the gate.

You said the house needed one more window so nobody would feel left out.”

I ran a finger along the chalk.

It came off in a pale yellow smudge.