Sitting in the middle of the room was a rectangular trunk in shades of brown and gold, about the size of a small coffee table. What appeared to be a canvas covering featured rows of decorative symbols interspersed with LV logos; narrow strips of wood on the top and sides decorated the trunk; leather straps, brass corners and studs, brass handles and a brass lock finished it . . . perfectly.

“Wow,” Annie said. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Antique. Authentic, of course. Vintage early twentieth century,” Kevin said. “You might not know it, but good old Louis started his business in 1854, in Paris, of course, on the Rue Something-or-other. He made a fortune off his trunks that had flat tops like this because they were lightweight and could easily be stacked. Not like those round-topped steamer ones.”

“Wow,” Annie repeated. “I did not know any of that.”

“If Mom was willing to sell it—which I highly doubt—it could be yours for about thirty grand, give or take a few thousand. I’m not sure what the market is now.”

Annie took a step back. “Thirty thousand dollars? It’s a trunk! Are there gold bricks inside?”

“That’s what it’s worth empty. It’s handcrafted, you know? But don’t ask me what’s inside. I have no idea. I only know I’ve never been allowed to touch it. Mom kept it in her bedroom, in a ‘special place,’ as she called it. She got it right after she opened the shop on Newbury Street.”

“And you really have no idea what’s in it?”

“Nope. I’ve never even seen it open. Of course, the more I was told NEVER to open it—‘under ANY circumstances’—the more I wanted to. There’s nothing like temptation to drive a kid nuts. For years, I searched for the key. Never found it. Somewhere around age twenty-five, I gave up on the damn thing.”

“But the trunk is full?”

“I guess. ‘Cuz I don’t think it weighs this much by itself.”

“And Donna wanted it here.”

“Looks like.”

“Maybe she’ll let you look inside now?”

He scratched his chin again. “Ha,” he said. “I wouldn’t dare ask.” He stared at the trunk a few more seconds then said, “We might as well slide it into the bedroom. My bet is she’ll want it there.” But his eyes had grown misty again, and he didn’t move.

Annie put her hand up on his back. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll help. We can do this together.” She hoped he knew she wasn’t only talking about moving the trunk.

* * *