Shall We Begin?

“Photograph it,” he said. “All of it. Your Agent Miller is waiting.”

So I did, page after page, on the cold floor of a bank vault in the middle of a blizzard, and I sent it, and somewhere in an office an hour away a woman stopped waiting and started making calls.

Grandpa slid the deed and the will into a waterproof briefcase and closed the clasps.

“Now,” he said. “We go home.”

The drive back was worse. The storm had gone to a full blizzard, and every shadow on the road looked like an SUV. By the time we came up our own driveway my nerves were filed down to wire.