Chapter 77 - What Could Be Lifted
We were allowed inside only after the professionals said which areas could be entered.
Even then, we went with people who knew what they were looking for.
The building smelled unfamiliar.
Wet plaster.
Damp carpet.
Something metallic.
Reception chairs had been moved into rows. Ceiling panels lay in heavy stacks. A line of dirty water marked the bottom of a cupboard.
Lena stopped at the classroom door.
The low table she had chosen for children stood surrounded by equipment.
One of the drawings on the wall had curled outward.
She reached toward it.
Then lowered her hand.
“We should ask before touching anything.”
I nodded.
At the workshop, Daniel stood beside the bench dedicated to Jonah Reed.
Water had swollen part of the wood.
A drawer would not open.
The small plaque remained attached.
He looked at it for a long time.
“We need someone who can assess what can be saved,” he said.
It was a practical sentence.
His voice made it something else.
Hannah arrived that afternoon after Lena called her.
We had debated how much to say over the phone.
Then Lena described what we knew and offered to send photographs before Hannah decided whether she wanted to come.
Now she stood in the workshop entrance wearing her work cardigan.
Daniel moved aside.
“I’m sorry.”
She walked toward the bench.
Touched the edge.
Looked at the drawer.
Then she turned to him.
“Were any children hurt?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“No.”
She nodded.
For several seconds, she seemed unable to speak.
Then she said, “He would have hated seeing good wood left wet.”
Daniel laughed once.
It broke in the middle.
“We’re getting advice.”
“Good.”
That evening, Ava called from Pittsburgh.
Her training supervisor had let her finish early after Hannah explained what happened.
She wanted photographs.
Measurements.
A list of the damaged tools.
Daniel promised to send what he could once access and assessment allowed.
“I’m not coming to interfere,” she said quickly.
“We know,” Lena answered.
“I just want to understand.”
After the call, Hannah remained at our kitchen table.
The children had heard enough to be worried.
Nico asked whether the bench would be thrown away.
“We don’t know yet,” I said.
He looked toward Charlie’s box beside the window.
“Can they keep the name part?”
“We’ll ask.”
Hannah watched him.
Then she said, “It doesn’t have to stay exactly the same to keep being his bench.”
Nico considered that.
“So they can change it?”
“If that’s what it needs.”
She looked down at the photographs again.
May you like
Her eyes were wet.
She had not meant that it would be easy.
