Thank you Phylor for our photo prompt!
My granny had an old shed in the back garden. She kept it locked up tight, not even my friend Jimmy could get it open, and he was the best lock picker I knew.
She always caught us. Granny would place her hand on your shoulder and steer you back into the house to a cup of tea.
I was with her many years later, on holiday from University, when she passed a key over the plastic covered table to me. Her hair was completely silver then, and her right hand ravaged by arthritis. I waited until she went to bed before I made the walk to the shed.
The key fit. The lock turned effortlessly. My heart pounded in my throat. I wished I had called Jimmy to come see, but he was still serving time. Grandpa’s unfinished projects sat waiting. I was the only grandchild who had shown interest in carpentry.
I finished the little bear sculpture he had been working on. Granny kept it by her side until she left us.
No random foxes made it into this week’s story.