Chapter 4 - Open It
Marcus picked up the envelope Walter had kicked. "She's been writing to you for years. Birthdays. Christmas. The anniversary, every single year."
"She wants money."
"Have you read one? One letter?"
"I know my daughter."
"You knew her at fifteen. You don't know the woman who's been mailing these."
Walter looked at the wall.
Marcus held out the newest envelope. "Open it."
"No."
"Walter. Please."
"I said no."
Marcus's voice went low and even. "You called me here today."
"I called the police because his party was too loud."
"I've got a decibel meter in the car that says otherwise."
I almost laughed, standing there in a garage full of smoke. Walter caught it and glared at me like the legal volume of my son's cartoon playlist was a personal attack.
Marcus pushed the envelope closer. "You ran because you knew my face."
"I ran because I didn't feel like talking to you."
"You were about to burn seventeen years of your daughter's letters in a barrel."
"Should've burned them the day they showed up."
"Then why didn't you?"
Walter's face buckled for half a second. Then he turned away from both of us.
And I finally got it. He hadn't kept those letters because he hated Nora. He'd kept them because throwing them out meant admitting they were nothing to him — and opening them was scarier than either one.
I looked at the envelope in Marcus's hand. "Maybe you should read it, Walter."
He laughed, no humor in it at all. "You too, huh?"
"You shut down twelve kids over noise that wasn't even against the rules. So yeah. I think you owe somebody an uncomfortable ten minutes."
Marcus's mouth twitched.
Walter stared at the two of us. Something behind his eyes gave out. He snatched the envelope out of Marcus's hand and tore it open, fingers shaking.
Inside was a birthday card. Balloons on the front.
He read the cover without a sound. Then he opened it. His eyes tracked across the handwriting, and the color drained out of his face.
"What's it say?" Marcus asked.
Walter closed the card. "Nothing."
"Read it."
"No."
I stepped closer. "You chased a dozen first-graders indoors because they were laughing. Whatever's in there, you can read it out loud."
He looked at me with real anger. Then it collapsed.
He opened the card again. His voice came out barely there.
"'Dear Dad. I don't know if you read these.'"
He stopped.
Marcus waited.
"'I keep writing anyway, because Mom always said stubbornness runs in the family.'" His voice cracked on the word Mom. "'My son turns seven next month.'"
I thought about Cody, who had turned seven that morning.
Walter's eyes found mine, then dropped. "'He asks why he doesn't have a grandpa.'"
He couldn't keep going.
The garage went dead quiet.
Marcus took the card out of his hands, gently, and read the rest.
"'I've told him the truth. I said his grandfather lost someone he loved and never figured out how to come back from it.'"
Walter sat back down.
"'I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of mailing letters to a house when I don't know if anyone's on the other end. If you want to meet him, call me. If you don't, I'll stop asking. I mean it this time.'"
May you like
There was a phone number under the last line.
Walter put both hands over his face.
