“Looks like you’re
unning a field exercise in here, Captain.”
“Just bringing it up to standard,” I said, dropping the mop into the bucket.
He nodded, setting down a toolbox.
“Thought you might need this. Hammer, screws, some paint. Place has good bones. It just needs someone who gives a damn.”
We worked side by side most of the afternoon. Jack replaced a loose porch board while I patched a drafty window. The rhythm of labor calmed me. Each nail driven, each board scrubbed clean, felt like reclaiming something Megan couldn’t touch.
Later, when the sun dipped behind the trees, we sat on the porch steps with two cold beers.
“You ever think about what you want this place to be?” Jack asked.
I looked out at the lake.
“Not just a cabin. Not just land. Something bigger, something Dad hinted at in his letter.”
