The last part of the letter explained the promise to Gene. Two years earlier, Dad’s doctor had found a serious heart problem. He told no one but his best friend. He wrote that he knew he had been a hard father and a quiet one, and that he hoped the money would buy me the start he never had. Then, at the bottom, the words I had waited seventeen years to hear. I love you, son. I always did.

I used the money for a down payment on a small house two streets from Dad’s. His work boots sit by my front door now, and I still can’t bring myself to move them. The next spring, Gene and I took those two rods out to the lake Dad loved. I caught my first fish on the one labeled Son. Gene said Dad would have pretended not to be proud. I know better now.