“Please.”
I sat on the floor and pulled the first cardboard box toward me while the locksmith got to work on the strongbox. Inside, I found bundles of letters tied together with rough twine. They looked decades old.
I pulled one out and read the first few lines.
I found bundles of letters tied together with rough twine.
Tom, the check came yesterday. Thank you. I didn’t know how I was going to cover the cleats and the league fee both this month. He doesn’t know where the money comes from. I told him it’s from an old friend of his father’s. I hope that’s all right. He asks about you sometimes. — M
In that heartbeat, I realized I should have forced the issue while he was alive, or never opened that closet at all.
My skin felt cold. I opened the next one.
Tom, the check came yesterday. Thank you.
Tom, you don’t have to keep doing this. I know what it costs you to send it. But if you’re going to keep helping, we need to talk about how long we’re going to keep the truth from him. He’s not a little boy anymore. He deserves to know who you are to him. — Marilyn
There it was.
Thirty-nine years of marriage, and the only conclusion I could reach was that Thomas had a secret child — a whole life I wasn’t invited to see.
We need to talk about how long we’re going to keep the truth from him.
“I was 19 when I married you,” I muttered to the hallway. “When did you even find the time?”
I shuffled through more envelopes until I saw a return address that made me stop breathing for a second.
It was from a State Correctional Facility.
I tore it open, and the mystery got stranger.
Tommy, you shouldn’t be writing to me. Mom and Dad changed your name and moved you away to protect you from what I did, don’t you get that?
“When did you even find the time?”
I blinked. What was I reading?
“Almost there,” the locksmith called out.
I nodded absently and kept reading.
I’m glad you reached out, though. It gives me a chance to apologize. I should’ve been a better role model for you, Tommy. If I could go back, I’d be a better big brother — Steve
Big brother? Thomas always told me he was an only child. How many layers of lies were stashed in this closet?
What was I reading?
I grabbed another letter from the pile.
Tommy, I heard from Marilyn. She came to see me. She’s pregnant. I don’t know what kind of father I can be from in here, but if that baby comes into this world carrying my last name, he deserves better than what I gave him — Steve.
I looked back at the first letters from Marilyn. The pieces started to shift.
Thomas wasn’t hiding a son. He was secretly helping a nephew… why? What had his brother done?
A loud bang snapped me out of my thoughts.
The pieces started to shift.
The locksmith had forced the strongbox open. Inside were old newspaper clippings, a worn leather catcher’s mitt, and a few scuffed baseballs.
“Oh, wow!” the locksmith said. “I know this guy!”
I leaned in, my knees pressing into the hardwood.
He held up an old newspaper clipping with a photo of a young man in a crisp white uniform standing in the batter’s box, eyes fixed on the pitcher. The bleachers behind him were packed.
“I know this guy!”
“My dad talked about him all the time,” the locksmith said. “He said this guy had the best arm in the county. People used to fill the bleachers to see him pitch. Then he got into a bad wreck. The other driver died, and he went to prison. People stopped talking to the family overnight.”
I took the clipping from his hand.
There was another photo of the same young man in a baseball jersey, smiling with his arm around a young boy. Two older adults stood behind them, looking proud.
