I stopped.
Inside were two separate narrow beds.
A large telescope stood beside the window.
On a wooden table were dozens of old photographs, letters, a video camera, and a thick photo album.
There was also a small suitcase.
I looked at Grandpa.
“What is all this?”
He sat down slowly.
Dad remained near the doorway.
Neither man seemed willing to speak first.
Finally Grandpa pointed toward the album.
“Open it.”
The first photograph showed a young woman about my age.
For a second, I thought it was me.
Same dark hair.
Same smile.
Even the shape of her eyes looked familiar.
“Who is she?”
Grandpa smiled.
“Your grandmother, Rose. She was twenty-six there.”
My exact age.
I turned the page.
There were photographs of Grandma and Grandpa sitting on a porch.
Another of them beside an old car.
Another showed Grandma asleep in a chair beside a hospital bed.
