Out in those fields, he used to talk about finding the mother lode, though: a mason jar of old money. Before the banks were reliable, people used to stuff their belongings in jars and then bury them in the yard. A way to keep locations of valuables secret.

In the kitchen, I pour Cheerios into a bowl, remembering how Papa told me they were donut seeds. What a dumb kid I must have been to spend hours burying them around our yard, waiting for them to sprout.

Grammy shuffles into the kitchen. “Morning, Delsie girl. How about some crooks and nannies?”

“Sure.” I laugh. The English muffin box says they have nooks and crannies, but “crooks and nannies” is one of our favorite jokes.

I tell her about my dream. She shakes her head.

“Oh, that silly metal detector of his. Naming it Homer and talking like it was a family member. ‘Should we take Homer to the beach with us? Maybe Homer would like to go for a ride.’”

“You call him silly? Don’t you call your car Darlin’ every morning?”

She laughs. “I suppose I do. That Darlin’ and Homer would make a lovely couple, don’t you think?”

“Homer could say he looked for Darlin’ his whole life.”

I expect her to laugh at my joke, but she looks sad. Shaking her head, she begins to make tea. “Oh, how I miss that man,” she tells me. “Remember how happy he’d be on stormy Sunday nights in the summer?”

“Yes! He’d call them Treasure Trove Mondays because tourists had been dropping things on the beach all weekend. Remember the diamond ring?” I ask her. “He actually danced on Corporation Beach.”

“Yes, he did. And then he found that sign for a lost ring—oh, that girl was so happy to get it back!”

I smile thinking about going with him to meet the girl. Watching a complete stranger throw her arms around Papa Joseph. It was also the first time I saw anyone cry—really cry—from being just plain happy.

“I’ve been thinking about Papa’s treasures, actually,” Grammy says. “Those half-cent coins he found in Concord must be worth something, and his pocket watch would be worth a lot. It might be time to visit the dealer again.” She sighs.

“Grammy. We can’t sell Papa’s things.”

“Delsie, I know. I do. But the watch alone would fix all of the problems with that car. And that old furnace. It may be hot today, but the wind will howl on the Cape before we know it. We’ll need heat. Without soot.”

“I’d rather be cold.”

Her shoulders droop. “To be honest, Delsie, having his stuff around just stirs things up for me—reminds me of what I’ve lost.” Then she comes over and places her hand on my face. “Thank the lord I have you.”

“But, Grammy—”

“Baby, we need the money. And now Henry tells me the roof will need work, too.”

She looks weary.

I know she’s right. About the money. But I feel differently about things.