Chapter 8
Even after a full morning and afternoon of work, the library-in-progress didn’t look like much. Red chalk lines snapped on the tan walls worked like reverse ghosts. Marking not where shelves had been for years on end, but where they would be before the end of the day, and for years to come.
Widely spaced on the bottom, carefully measured to hold tall books full of photographs. The boards would be wide, too, creating enough room for the huge-format volumes to fit comfortably. Smaller toward the middle, then close together and narrow for the last few at the top. Perfect for row upon row of battered paperbacks from long before Connor was born.
The final space near the ceiling still looked too tall to his eyes, even though he knew it would be jammed full of photographs. Lovingly f
