Inside were rows of plain white envelopes, each labeled in Dad’s blocky handwriting with a month and year. The first read, “October, first rent.” My hands shook as I opened it. Inside were four hundred dollars in crisp bills, exactly what I had paid him. Every envelope contained the same amount. Walter stood silently behind me, his eyes red. Beneath them lay brand-new brown leather work boots in my size and a folded letter bearing my name. At the bottom rested something wrapped in an old blue towel.
“Read the letter first,” Walter whispered. “He made me promise.” I unfolded the page, and the first line made my entire body go cold. It read: “Son, if Walter has finally given you this box, then the truth about your mother can no longer remain buried.”
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