“You kept that?”
Derek glanced up.
“He wrote it after I ruined a cabinet door when I was sixteen.”
Dad’s face softened with recognition.
“I remember.”
“I didn’t.”
Derek gave a dry little laugh.
“Not until last year.”
Veronica arrived in the alley, stopped at the sight of my car and entered cautiously. Nobody shouted; the quiet made everything more tense. She faced Derek.
“You told him?”
“Most of it.”
“Most?”
“There’s one more thing.”
Derek faced Dad.
“I found out what Granddad meant.”
His father’s expression changed.
“What?”
“The trust.”
“No. Not the trust.”
Derek opened a drawer in the antique sideboard and removed a time-yellowed envelope. Dad recognized it before it reached him.
“Where did you find that?”
“Inside one of Granddad’s old cabinets.”
Dad took the envelope, addressed MANUEL — WHEN THE BOYS ARE OLD ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND, with shaking fingers.
“I never knew this existed.”
Mom joined
