Then he saw Eric.
More specifically, he saw the red suit.
He stopped walking.
His face lost its color.
“Where did you get that?”
Eric frowned.
“Why?”
“Just tell me.”
Eric hesitated.
“It was in Dad’s closet.”
I immediately looked at him.
“What closet?”
I had already gone through Dad’s main closet and the spare bedroom.
There had been no red suit.
“The downstairs one,” Eric said.
Dad’s study was downstairs.
And as far as I knew, Dad’s study didn’t have a closet.
Eric explained that while searching for Dad’s military papers for the funeral arrangements, he had run his hand along one of the bookshelves.
That was when he noticed something unusual.
A narrow section of the bookcase moved.
The entire shelf was mounted on hidden hinges.
Behind it was a small concealed closet.
Inside hung three garment bags.
Two contained black suits.
The third contained the red one.
Pinned to it was a note bearing Eric’s name.
Mr. Lawson stared at him.
Then he asked one strange question.
“Did you check the pockets?”
Eric shook his head.
Mr. Lawson pulled us away from the other mourners and began examining the jacket.
The pockets were empty.
Then his fingers stopped over Eric’s chest.
He pressed the lining.
Something crackled underneath.
Mr. Lawson looked at us.
“Your father told me I would know when the time came.”
He opened his briefcase and removed a tiny pair of scissors.
I stared at him.
“Time for what?”
He didn’t answer.
He carefully cut several stitches in the jacket lining.
Inside was a folded piece of
heavy paper.
Eric took it.
His hands started shaking before he even finished unfolding it.
Then he read.
I watched his face change.
I had known my brother my entire life, but I had never seen that expression before.
It looked like someone had just returned something to him that he had stopped believing he would ever receive.
Later, Eric let me read part of the letter.
Some of it belonged only to him, and I will always respect that.
But I can tell you what Dad was trying to say.
He wrote about Eric’s divorce.
About their argument.
About all those silent years afterward.
And then Dad admitted something.
He had failed to show up.
Not physically.
Dad had always been there physically.
But during the worst period of Eric’s divorce, my brother hadn’t needed advice or solutions.
