"Where Dad's stuff is. Remember?""It's the middle of the night, Oskar."" What was it called?" "Oskar." It's just that what was the name of the place?" She reached for her glasses on the bedside table, and I would have given all of my collections, and all of the jewelry I'd ever made, and all future birthday and Christmas presents just to hear her say "Black Storage." Or "Blackwell Storage." Or "Blackman." Or even "Midnight Storage." Or "Dark Storage." Or "Rainbow." She made a weird face, like someone was hurting her, and said, "Store-a-Lot."
I'd lost count of the disappointments.