I photographed it as he pointed out the details.
“Dad made this. I don’t want to leave it.”
There was a small drawer marked with Michael’s initials.
“Could we keep the drawer instead?”
Frank helped us detach it. Nathan hugged it close.
“I’d like that.”
We moved back to the rocking chair. Nathan stroked the armrest.
“It just needs one last coat.”
I wished I could promise that finishing his father’s projects would make everything all right. But grief wasn’t something we could repair completely.
“Can I help?” I asked.
He hesitated, then offered me a cloth.
“Start here. Don’t use too much.”
I did as he instructed. For once, I didn’t try to direct the work. When we’d finished, Nathan examined the chair.
“Dad never got to see it like this.”
“No,” I said. “But he made it because he was excited to meet you.”
