I arrived at the old house with Evan beside me.
My father was waiting in the kitchen. He had set three cups on the table, though he didn't pour coffee. My mother sat near the window with the storage receipt between her hands.
Evan took a chair. I remained standing.
"Why did you take the banner from the warehouse?" I asked.
My father rubbed his thumb over the handle of his coffee mug. "I didn't want it damaged."
"Then why didn't you tell Mom?"
"I planned to have it repaired."
"For thirty-seven years?"
"I didn't know where to take it. The fabric was fragile."
"You could have asked a conservator."
"I did. The first person I spoke to said it would cost more than the foundation could afford."
"So you hid it."
"I stored it."
"Without a record."
"I wrote the transfer sheet."
"And t
