That evening, Nico returned to his father's cabin. Will lingered in the corridor.
A Wright Flyer had joined the ranks of model planes. A Boeing 787, a Submarine Spitfire and Nico's favorite: the B-21 Raider. They all lined the window sill and the ledge beneath it.
Nico added a Roman Tetradrachm and an Italian Lire from 1934. He added a second Lire from 2023. Eighty-nine years distance. It seemed impossible; surreal even.
He placed a communion wafer next to the rosary. He took out three small bottles and added them to the display. Olive oil for annointing, balsamic for flavor and prosecco for Mass; all of them imported from Venice.
"I want them to know that someone actually lived here once," he told Will as they were leaving.
"Do you ever think about moving back in?"
"No," he answered immediately. He reflected on the deeper silence within; the cavernous walls and empty spaces. "Every time I go in I can feel his cruelty," he said, looking back one last time.