“I think you’re right.”
Later that afternoon, Clare led me toward the storage room.
Walter’s old gray cabinet still stood against the wall.
A fresh paper snowflake had been taped to its door.
Below the familiar words, WALT’S CABINET, someone had added:
AND JO’S.
I placed my hand against the cabinet and smiled.
Then Clare pointed toward her office.
Beside Walter’s old volunteer photograph hung another picture.
It showed a youth hockey team from 2002.
Walter stood in the back row, smiling proudly.
Adam was in the front, holding his little trophy.
“Your son brought that in,” Clare explained. “He thought his father would want it here.”
I stood looking at the photograph for a long time.
There were so many things Walter had left behind.
His collection.
His memories.
His old flannel shirts.
His ridiculous Santa hat.
But the most important thing he’d left us wasn’t something that could be sold at an auction.
