Chapter 8 — For Everything We’ll Keep

Carol made tea in the kitchen while I sat on the porch with Helen’s wooden box beside me. The moon hung low over the water, the tide moving steadily in and out.

I opened a letter I hadn’t yet read.

Eugene, If I did one thing right at the end, I hope it is this: I gave you the truth in a place quiet enough to receive it. I know the cabin looks poor from the road.

I wanted it that way. Bradley sees shine before substance. You always saw structure. This little house has held my shame, my love, my fear, and my peace.

It held Carol when I could not give her my name. It held me when I could no longer carry all my lies alone. Now I hope it holds you long enough to understand that I did love you, even when I failed you.

I pressed the letter to my chest and finally cried for my wife — not the restrained tears I’d allowed myself at the funeral, not the measured grief of a man packing boxes while strangers carried his life out of his home.