He gave me a warm smile. “Name’s Hank McCoy. I live just two cabins down from here.”

“Retired from the Marine Corps,” he added. “Your father asked me to check in on you when the time finally came.”

The Marine Corps explained the straight posture and the sharp haircut. He held out the dish to me.

“It’s beef stew. Figured you’d be hungry after that long drive.” I hesitated a second before taking the dish from him.

“You knew my father?” I asked. Hank nodded.

“Knew him well enough,” he replied. “He came up here a week before he passed and spent three days organizing things.”