Those two men had always been
almost exactly alike.
Everything changed at the cemetery.
Dad’s longtime attorney, Herbert Lawson, approached us after the burial.
Mr. Lawson had handled Dad’s legal affairs for decades. He was seventy-three, meticulous, composed, and rarely surprised by anything.
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.
