The big oak kitchen island was completely clear.

I laid the original 2012 trust deed flat across the middle of the clean wooden surface.

Next to it I lined up the three original brass house keys, gleaming under the overhead light.

I sat down in the wooden kitchen chair, laid both hands flat on the table on either side of the page, and looked down at my grandfather’s neat, angular handwriting on the title page.

The morning frost on the porch railing melted in the early sun while I held a ceramic mug in both hands.