“Then help us make things different,” I said. “Nathan needs his grandfather. But you have to respect that I’m his mother.”
Frank nodded.
“I will.”
Inside, Cole was waiting near the workbench. Nathan went over to him.
“I’m sorry I made you keep lying.”
Cole shrugged.
“You kept saying one more weekend.”
“I know. I shouldn’t have.”
“I thought we’d get caught. I wanted to tell Mom.”
“I won’t put you in that position again.”
Cole watched him carefully.
“Good. Because next time, I’m telling her.”
Nathan offered a faint smile, then started sorting through Michael’s tools.
“Can I help?” I asked.
“I’ve got it.”
I gave him room. He worked in silence while Frank filled a box, then stopped, clearly overwhelmed.
“I don’t know what to keep.”
“We don’t have to decide everything today.”
“Grandpa’s moving, Mom. We do.”
He was right. My instinct was to organize everything and choose for him. Instead, I opened Michael’s notebook.
“Your dad kept drawings of his projects. Maybe we could photograph the things we can’t take.”
After considering it, Nathan passed me the camera.
“Start with the workbench.”
I photographed it as he pointed out the details.
“Dad made this. I don’t want to leave it.”
There was a small drawer marked with Michael’s initials.
“Could we keep the drawer instead?”
Frank helped us detach it. Nathan hugged it close.
“I’d like that.”
We moved back to the rocking chair. Nathan stroked the armrest.
“It just needs one last coat.”
I wished I could promise that finishing his father’s projects would make everything all right. But grief wasn’t something we could repair completely.
“Can I help?” I asked.
He hesitated, then offered me a cloth.
“Start here. Don’t use too much.”
I did as he instructed. For once, I didn’t try to direct the work. When we’d finished, Nathan examined the chair.
“Dad never got to see it like this.”
“No,” I said. “But he made it because he was excited to meet you.”
Nathan turned to me.
“Was he?”
“He talked about you constantly before you were even born.”
