I still have to decide what to do with the boat. The seat is sitting right there on the workbench, waiting to be fitted. I could finish it. I could take it out on the water and let it drift.

But part of me feels like that would be a lie, too.

I am the one who kept the secret. I am the one who let him believe I didn’t know. Now, I have to live with the fact that his grandson knows the man he loved wasn’t the saint we all pretended he was. I am still sitting here in the dark. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to turn on the light.