“It was in Dad’s closet.”
I Shook My Head Immediately
“That can’t be right.”
Because I had personally gone through my father’s clothes. Two weeks before, on a Saturday, with my daughter.
Black. Navy. Two grays. A tan sport coat he never wore. Work shirts with his name stitched on them.Nothing remotely like what my brother was standing there in.
“Which Closet?”
“The one downstairs.”
I stared at him.
“Eric. Dad’s study doesn’t have a closet.”
And my brother gave me a very strange look.
“Apparently it does.”
What He Told Us Standing on That Grass
Four days earlier, he’d been in Dad’s study looking for military discharge papers, because the VA needed something for the burial arrangements.
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