A clean-shaven face, deep wrinkles.
His tie was too tight, as if someone else had tied it.
He held his glass in both hands, as if he were afraid he would drop it.
“Excuse me,” I said carefully.
“Have you worked with Dad before?”
He nodded once.
“I’ve known him for a long time.”
“Honestly.”
I studied his face.
I didn’t recognize him.
“I don’t think we’ve met yet.”
“He wasn’t even free,” he said quietly.
That stopped me.
“What does this mean?”
He stepped closer.
I could smell the scent of motor oil and peppermint.
His eyes scanned the room before leaning in toward me.
“If you ever want to know what really happened to your mother,” he whispered, “look in the bottom drawer of your stepfather’s garage.”
My breath caught.
“What?”
“I made her a promise,” Frank said.
“That was part of it.”
“Who are you?” I asked, my pulse racing.
He didn’t answer directly.
He just stepped back, his face inscrutable.
“Sorry, kid,” he said, and pressed a business card into my hand.
“I wish your parents were here.”
Then he disappeared into the crowd, as if he wasn’t even there.
I stood there silently, his words echoing in my head louder than the organ in the living room.
Bottom drawer.
That night, after everyone had left, I returned to the house.
I didn’t turn on the lights.
The darkness seemed softer somehow.
The garage door creaked as I lifted it.
The air smelled thickly of oil and cedar, the cabinets Michael had made himself.
My footsteps echoed on the concrete floor as I walked to the workbench.
The bottom drawer was deeper than the others.
It resisted at first, but then it slid out with a soft groan.
Inside was a sealed envelope with my name written on it in Michael’s signature square handwriting.
Beneath it was a brown folder filled with legal documents, letters, and a torn journal.
I sat down on the cold floor.
And he opened the envelope.
“Clover,
If you’re reading this, it means Frank kept his promise.
I asked you not to tell me until I was gone.
I didn’t want you to carry this with you while I was still here for you.
I never lied to you, honey.
But I didn’t tell you everything.
Your mother died in a car accident, yes – but she didn’t just go shopping.
You should have come and visited her.
We were supposed to sign the custody papers that day.
To make it official.
But he panicked.
Aunt Sammie threatened to sue.
He said no.
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