He walked past us into the old building. Dust floated through beams of gray light. The telescope still stood in the center beneath the cracked dome, covered by a canvas tarp. Along the far wall was a cabinet where my father used to keep star charts, batteries, and snacks for our childhood visits.
He knelt with effort and reached beneath the cabinet, pressing a hidden latch.
A panel loosened.
Clara let out a soft gasp.
Inside was a metal box.
Thomas lifted it carefully and carried it to a wooden table. His hands trembled as he opened the lid.
Notebooks lay inside, wrapped in cloth.
My mother’s handwriting covered the labels.
Patient comfort study.
Port design ideas.
Iris science notes.
Do not discard.
I touched the top notebook like it was something sacred.
