“Dad could sit on that porch every Saturday watching you mow, but he couldn’t come watch his own grandson play ball.”
Noah flinched.
Aaron immediately looked guilty.
“I’m not mad at you.”
“I know.”
“It’s just…”
Aaron rubbed his hands over his face.
“I spent years thinking he didn’t care.”
Noah held out the glove.
“Then maybe you should come.”
Aaron stared at him.
Finally, he took it.
At Franklin Field, we searched for almost half an hour.
Eventually, a groundskeeper directed us toward the concession stand.
Months earlier, Mr. Vance had arranged for a sealed box to be kept there.
Inside was a letter.
Aaron read silently at first.
Then his hands began shaking.
“What?” Claire asked.
He sat down on the bleachers and handed her the letter.
Mr. Vance had written:
Aaron,
You asked me to come watch Ben play, and I kept telling you no.
You deserved better than excuses.
After your mother died, I couldn’t sit in those bleachers. I tried once and turned around before I reached the gate.
You probably thought I didn’t care.
I did.
I came to three games.
