Chapter 76: The Visit to Dad’s Grave

Eli asked to visit our father’s grave on a Sunday morning.
We drove in silence through streets he remembered and others that had changed beyond recognition.
The old grocery store was now a pharmacy, and the gas station where Dad bought coffee had become a car wash.
Eli studied the changes without commenting until we reached the cemetery.
He carried a small tool from the garage in his coat pocket.
At the grave, he knelt and placed the tool beside the headstone.
It was the first wrench Dad had given him when he learned to repair a bicycle.
Eli touched the engraved dates and whispered something I could not hear.
I stood several yards away beneath a bare tree.
After a while, he asked me to come closer.
“Did he stop looking?” he asked.
“Never,” I said.
“Even at the end?”
“He was tired, but he never stopped wanting you home.”
Eli pressed his hands together and looked at the ground.
“I thought staying away kept him safe.”
I told him Dad’s pain was caused by the people who threatened and deceived them both.
I did not try to tell him grief had a purpose or that everything had happened for a reason.
We stood there until the wind grew cold.
Before leaving, Eli picked up the wrench again.
He said Dad would have hated seeing a good tool left outdoors to rust.

Chapter 77: A Small Business and a Big Decision

The owner of a local music shop offered Eli part-time work after hearing that he repaired instruments.
The owner knew the investigation was ongoing but asked no questions about it during the interview.
Instead, he showed Eli a damaged amplifier and asked whether it could be repaired economically.
Eli inspected the casing, identified two likely faults, and explained how he would confirm them.
The owner hired him for a trial shift.
Eli returned home with grease on his hands and a smile I had not seen before.
He said one customer brought in a guitar that belonged to her grandfather.
The instrument’s wiring had failed, but the original finish was still intact.
Eli repaired it carefully and returned it without changing anything the family valued.
He told me the customer had cried when she heard it play again.
Then he looked embarrassed because he had told the story with such enthusiasm.
“You can be happy,” I said.
“I know,” he answered.
“I’m just getting used to it.”
A month later, he opened a savings account in his own name and arranged direct deposit for his wages.
The paperwork took longer than either of us expected because of the years of inconsistent records.
He completed it without allowing me to take over.
When the bank clerk handed him the receipt, he folded it twice and put it in his wallet.
“My money,” he said quietly.