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?
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?
Mom and Dad changed your name and moved you away.
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.
What had his brother done?
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.
The locksmith had forced the strongbox open.
