Beside it was Ryan’s bracelet marked FATHER.
Ethan stared.
“You really kept all this?”
I smiled through tears.
“I kept way too much.”
We spent hours sitting on the concrete floor.
Pictures.
Fishing gear.
Concert tickets.
Old birthday cards.
A terrible yellow tie Ryan had once worn to Christmas.
And stories.
So many stories.
I told Ethan how Ryan had been so terrified of holding a newborn that, before Ethan was born, he practiced carrying a five-pound bag of flour.
One day the bag split and dumped flour everywhere.
Ryan blamed the imaginary baby.
I told him about the time Ryan chased a raccoon off our porch in nothing but socks, locked himself outside, and had to throw pebbles at our window to wake me.
I told him how terrified Ryan had been the first time baby Ethan got a fever.
How he stayed awake all night checking the thermometer every twenty minutes.
