“Evan.”
“His son.”
I sat down.
Owen continued.
“Daniel didn’t want to hand you a letter while he was dying. He said you wouldn’t trust anything wrapped in goodbye. He wanted the truth to wait until there was somewhere for it to go.”
That sounded exactly like Daniel.
Callahan drove home with me.
He barely spoke.
At one point, he simply said,
“I’m here.”
By evening, enough of the ice had melted for us to remove the watch.
When I turned it over, I saw something that hadn’t been there before.
The back plate had been replaced.
Engraved across it were five words:
LOOK UNDER THE PORCH STEP.
Callahan brought me a flashlight and pry bar.
I knelt beside the loose board near the rosebush Daniel had planted when we moved into the house.
Underneath the step, taped against a wooden beam inside a freezer bag, was an envelope.
