That evening, his best friend, Frank, knocked on the door.
He was holding a cardboard box sealed with packing tape.
“Your dad left this with me,” Frank said. He set it on the kitchen table. “He asked me to give it to you only after he was gone.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
“What, did he save every dollar of rent I ever paid him, just to hand it back as a joke?”
Frank didn’t smile.
“I wouldn’t make any guesses,” he said quietly, “until you see what’s inside.”
My fingers fumbled with the tape.
I lifted the flaps.
At first I thought Frank had brought the wrong box.
Then I looked closer, and I sank down into my father’s chair, sobbing so hard that Frank had to hold me upright.
Chapter 2: What Was in the Box
On top was a bank book.
A savings passbook, the old paper kind, with my name printed on it.
