They Tried to Throw Away His Old Glove…

St.

Anselm's Medical Center was forty minutes from Gerald and Carol's house.

Walter drove.

Danny sat in the back seat with the baseball glove in his lap, turning it over and over in his hands the way children handle the things that matter most to them — not playing with it, just holding it, making sure it was still there.

Walter watched him in the rearview mirror at a red light.

"Danny," he said.

"That glove.

Do you know where your mom got it?"

"She said it was my dad's," Danny said.

"She said he used it in high school.

She said he was really good."

"He was," Walter said.

"He was the best player on that team.

Maybe the best I ever saw."

Danny looked up.

"Did you watch him play?"

"Every game.

Home and away.

I drove four hours once to watch him pitch in a regional final." Walter's eyes went back to the road.

"He struck out eleven batters.

We won by two."

Danny was quiet for a moment.

Then: "I never got to see him play."

"No," Walter said.

"You didn't.

That's not fair.

And I'm sorry for it."

"It's not your fault."

"No," Walter said.

"But I'm sorry anyway."

They drove the rest of the way without talking.

It was a comfortable silence, which surprised Walter.

He had not expected comfort tonight.

Patrice was in room 214.

The nurse at the desk looked at Walter with the careful neutrality of someone trained to manage unexpected visitors, and Walter explained that he was the boy's grandfather — the word still new in his mouth, still finding its shape — and that he was here with Danny to see his mother.

The nurse looked at Danny.

Danny looked at the nurse.

"She's resting," the nurse said.

"But she's awake.

Keep it calm."

Patrice was smaller than Walter had imagined.

She was perhaps thirty, with Ryan's same dark eyes in a face that was tired in the specific way of people who have been fighting something for a long time.

When Danny came through the door she sat up and her whole face changed.

"Hey, baby." She opened her arms and Danny walked into them and she held him with the careful fierceness of a woman who had learned not to take a single moment for granted.

Then she looked up and saw Walter.

Her expression shifted through several things in quick succession — recognition, fear, something that might have been relief, and then a stillness that came from a decision being made.

"You're Walter," she said.

"Ryan talked about you all the time."

Walter pulled a chair to the bedside and sat down.

"He talked about you too.

I just didn't know it until tonight."

Patrice looked at Danny.

"Why don't you go ask the nurse if there's a vending machine, sweetheart.

Get yourself something."

Danny looked between them.

He was seven, not naive.

But he went.

When the door closed, Patrice said, "Carol called me.

On the way here.

She told me what happened with the glove."

"Then you know why I'm here."

"I know part of it." She folded her hands on the blanket.

"I want you to know I never asked for anything.

After Carol gave me the money, I didn't contact the family again.

I didn't want to cause trouble.

I just wanted to raise Danny and keep Ryan's memory alive for him." Her voice stayed level.

"The glove was the only thing I had of Ryan's.

I brought it to the party because Danny wanted something of his father's to hold onto.

He gets nervous in new places."

"He was protecting it," Walter said.

"Even when they tried to take it from him."

"He's his father's son."

Walter was quiet for a moment.

Then: "Patrice.

I need to tell you some things about Ryan's estate.

About what you were owed and what you were told."

She looked at him steadily.

"I figured something wasn't right.

Two thousand dollars didn't seem like much for a man who had a job and a car and an apartment."

"It wasn't right," Walter said.

"Not even close."

The door opened and Danny came back with a bag of pretzels and a look of careful innocence that meant he had been standing outside the door for at least thirty seconds.

Walter looked at him.

Looked at Patrice.

Looked at the worn brown glove sitting on the bedside table where Danny had set it down.

"I'm going to need a lawyer," Walter said.

"And I think you're going to need one too."