He had another surprise.
During renovations years earlier, workers had discovered a wooden beam beneath part of the original structure.
Names had been carved into it.
Servicemen.
Guests.
Employees.
Most were initials.
One was unmistakable.
H. CARTER — OHIO
Grandpa stared at it.
“I did that.”
“You remember?”
“Malia’s father caught me.”
The manager smiled.
“What happened?”
“He made me sand it out.”
We all looked at the clearly visible carving.
Grandpa grinned.
“I wasn’t very good at sanding.”
The manager handed him a small polished piece of wood.
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The hotel had preserved the original beam, but during restoration, a damaged section near Grandpa’s carving had been removed.
They had saved it.
For decades.
The piece in his hand contained only part of the inscription.
H. CART—
Grandpa ran his thumb across the letters.
Then he handed it to me.
“This is yours.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
