“That would be a shame,” Harold said softly.

He stood up and walked over to the kitchen window, looking out toward the backyard where the dark shape of the workshop stood under the oak trees.

“A real shame,” he repeated.

He turned back to face me, his hands in his pockets.

“Eleanor,” he said.

“Do you mind if we take a look at the workshop?”

I blinked, surprised by the request.

“Now?” I asked.

“It’s raining.”

“Just a quick look,” Harold said with a small, encouraging smile.

“I’d like to see what Arthur built.”

I looked at Rachel, who gave me a small nod.

“All right,” I said, rising from the table.

I went to the back door and took the heavy brass key from the hook on the wall.

The metal felt cold and solid in my hand.

We walked out the back door, the cool rain light on our faces.

The gravel path crunched beneath our shoes as we walked toward the wooden shed.

I inserted the key into the padlock, the lock clicking open with a familiar, heavy sound.