“Nothing gets thrown away without my permission.”
“Fine. You still have receipts from 1989.”
“Paper remembers better than people.”
Jackson lifted a box.
“Where do we start?”
“Shaun’s room.”
Shaun had been six when he disappeared. His toy cars and blue blanket remained exactly where he’d left them.
I picked up the silver watch beside his lamp and wound it.
Jackson watched quietly.
“Does that thing still work?”
“It loses four minutes a day.”
“Then why keep winding it?”
