We pulled up to Nan's house around three.
"We just as well get to it, Sis."
"Yeah. I know."
Nan's familiar aroma embraced us as we entered, like one last hug from beyond.
"Where do we even start?"
With moist eyes, we got to work. Cleaning out Nan's house was going to be difficult.
"Check this out. Look at these photos."
She spread out six yellowed photos from an old shoebox. The first four photos appeared the same at a glance. Nanna posed at the fall festival, in front of the Evergreen Ferris Wheel, smiling from ear to ear. She held up that year's festival sign. The first year was 1924. Then 1944. Another was 1964. Then 1974.
The same young ride operator smiled and reached for her ticket in each photo. The thing is, Nan looked exactly the same age in every photo. So did the operator.
In the fifth photo, Nan and the operator stood together, holding hands. The sign said 1984.
In the last photo, Nan and Grandpa stood together in their forties, still holding hands. That one was from 1996.
"Clint. How old was Nan?"
I dug around in the box. "Her birth certificate. Says 1894."
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