“For when the weather is nice,” Evelyn said when she saw me looking. “Your uncle made it this morning while I packed.”
“This morning?” I asked.
Richard cleared his throat. “It was already half finished.”
Evelyn smiled. “For eight years.”
He looked embarrassed.
I stared at him. “Eight years?”
He opened my door carefully. “I started it when you got your first apartment. Thought one day you might need it.”
The tenderness of that nearly took my breath away.
Inside, the house smelled like lemon polish, old books, and soup simmering on the stove. The guest room had been transformed. A bassinet stood beside the bed. Diapers were stacked on the dresser. A night-light shaped like a small moon glowed near the outlet.
On the pillow was a soft blue blanket I recognized.
I touched it with my good hand.
“This was mine.”
Evelyn nodded. “Your grandmother made it.”
“My mother told me it was lost.”
