Up in the attic, past the winter coats, something waited. A small wooden box sat on a dusty shelf, half-hidden in shadow. Ezequiel knelt before it. The lid was crooked, as if it had been opened and never quite shut again.
He lifted the lid. A puff of mothball air floated up. Photographs tumbled onto his knees — his mother on a bicycle with a crooked helmet, his father beside a lopsided mud castle. He held his father's picture close and grinned.
Downstairs, the kitchen table was a square of morning sun. Ezequiel laid the photos out like cards in a game. Then he found a blank sketchbook and a pencil, and set to work — his hand moving fast, scratching and sketching.
A giant sandcastle rose from the page — towers and turrets, a wide moat, and a flag made from a paper plate stuck in the tallest tower. The pencil flew. He could almost hear the waves.
He taped his drawing into the first empty page of the photo album. Then he turned the page — and saw it. A small envelope, stuck behind the glassine sleeve, with his name written in looping handwriting.
He slid his fingers under the crease and pulled it free. Inside was a faded Polaroid — a toddler version of himself, cheeks pink from the wind, clutching a dented tin bucket at the beach.
The Polaroid slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the table, landing face-up. He picked it up and held it beside his sandcastle drawing. The same pink cheeks. The same squinted eyes. The same bucket. He laughed out loud.
Carefully, he slid both into a fresh sleeve in the album — the old picture beside the new one, past and present sitting side by side like old friends.
The afternoon slipped into evening. Ezequiel carried the album to the living room and settled onto the rug. He opened it wide and let the pages turn — one by one.
His mother's bicycle. His father's mud castle. His own sandcastle by the sea. Each picture was a door, and he walked through them all, slow and wonder-struck.
He paused at the last page. The blank one he had left on purpose. Tomorrow, he thought, tomorrow there would be something new to put there.
He closed the album with a soft thud. His palms rested on the cover, and for a long moment, he just sat there — surrounded by love, and ready for more.