I let a homeless elderly man sleep on my porch during a terrible summer storm. By morning, he was gone—but what he left beneath my doormat brought me to tears.

My mother would sometimes stop there after work.

They became friends.

When my mother became frightened about my father’s finances, Estelle was one of the few people she trusted.

Albert had not known all of this when he first found the notebook.

He had simply recognized my mother’s name.

And then he remembered something Estelle had once told him.

“She said there were people who needed to find their way home,” he said.

I looked at him.

“And you thought I was one of them?”

“I didn’t know.”

He smiled.

“I only knew I was supposed to bring you the quilt.”

I looked down.

“What about the key?”

He shrugged.

“Maybe that was Estelle’s idea.”

I laughed.

“She’s been dead for years.”

“Some people leave instructions that take a while to reach you.”

I smiled.

Then I said something I hadn’t planned.

“Come home with me.”

Albert shook his head.