And a 24year-old's crisis of conscience doesn't change that. No, it doesn't. But the records he kept might prove what happened to them. She held my gaze. And that changes everything.
At 4:30, we went outside. Clare walked the yard slowly, not inspecting it, just walking it. The way you walk through a place that's been changed, and you're trying to understand what it is now compared to what it was. She stopped at the tarp over the sinkhole. It was still there.
Sandbags along the edges where I'd left them Tuesday morning. The filled dirt was still in my truck. The hole was still open. "Are you going to fill it?" she asked. That's still why you called me.
If you want me to. She looked at the tarp for a long time. Not yet, she said finally. I'm not ready for it to be gone yet. I understood that.
I didn't say so. I just nodded. She kept walking. She went past the place where the depression in the soil ran toward the garage. She stopped at the garage doors and looked at the padlock still in place.
The same padlock that had been there since the locksmith put it on 6 years ago. I need to see inside. She said the federal team has been through it. There's no hazard anymore. But Claire, the floor, I know what's in the floor.
I want to see the workshop. I went and got a bolt cutter from my truck. It felt strange to use it like I was breaking into something. Even though it was her property and her lock, I cut the shank and pulled the padlock off and stepped back. Clare put her hand on the door handle.
She pulled it open. The workshop was small. A workbench along one wall. Pegboard above it with tools hanging in outline. The way careful people organize their tools so you can always see what's missing.
A standing lamp in the corner. A stool. A shelf with small parts bins labeled in Daniel's handwriting. She walked in slowly. She stood at the workbench and put her hands on the surface.
I stayed near the door. He was making something, she said. In the last year, I could hear him in here some evenings. The sound of tools, I thought. She ran her hand along the workbench.