I didn't sleep that night.
Instead, I searched for the key to that storage unit.
I opened his dresser and rifled through his clothes. The smell of him was still caught in the fabric, but there was no key.
Then I went through his coat pockets. I found receipts, a gum wrapper, and a pen from the bank.
I opened his briefcase next and gasped.
A key lay right on top of his laptop!
I searched for the key to that storage unit.
I lifted it out, and my heart sank. It was just the key to Thomas's desk in the garage.
At 1:15, I climbed into the attic in my nightgown and bare feet, pulling the cord for the light. I hadn't been up there in years.
"Margaret, you'll break your neck up there," he used to warn me. Then he'd head up and do whatever needed doing.
I stood in the middle of all those boxes we'd accumulated together over four decades. There weren't nearly as many boxes as I thought there would be.
It was just the key to Thomas's desk in the garage.
I opened Christmas bins, old tax boxes, and everything else in between.
I found nothing.
There was just one place left to look.
Around 2 a.m., I went into the garage. He'd always insisted it was his space.
"Don't reorganize it," he would say. "I know where everything is."
His tools hung on a pegboard exactly where he had left them. His workbench was clean. His desk sat against the far wall.
There was just one place left to look.
I pulled at the top drawer; it was locked.
It had never been locked before... had it?
I'd hidden candy in that drawer several times as a surprise for Thomas. I'd left grocery lists on top of the desk. I had walked past it ten thousand times without a second thought.
"Why would you lock this?"
There was only one way to find out. I returned to his briefcase and fetched the key I'd found earlier.
It had never been locked before... had it?
Minutes later, I slid the key into the lock and opened the drawer.
An envelope slid forward.
I lifted it, but it was empty. There were no letters, either. Not that I was surprised. Thomas always said paper could be destroyed, and digital files erased. No wonder he tattooed those coordinates onto his skin; what could be less infallible than that?
I reached around inside, feeling for that storage unit key.
That's how I found the secret compartment.
I noticed the wood panel right at the back didn't sit flush with the frame. My fingers found the edge. It shifted, revealing a small hidden compartment, maybe four inches deep.
I stared at it for a long time before I reached in.
That's how I found the secret compartment.
