The envelope contained a brass key and no letter. Lena recognized the number stamped on its bow: the lakeside ticket office where her mother had worked. The booth had closed before her mother died, and Lena had assumed every key was destroyed.
A return address led to a retired carpenter. He remembered collecting spare keys during the closure. This one had opened a drawer rather than the door. He had found it among his tools and finally noticed the paper tag bearing her mother's surname.
Inside the boarded booth, the council caretaker let Lena try it. The drawer held a packet of unused tickets, a pencil worn to its metal cap, and a list of passengers who needed help on the steps. Her own childhood name appeared at the bottom, followed by the afternoon sailing.
Lena had remembered waiting there because nobody could collect her from school. Her mother had recorded something simpler: a passenger expected, assistance required. She left the unused tickets for the archive and took the list home in the carpenter's envelope.