“Your dad left this with me,” he said, setting it on the kitchen table.
Then he added, “He told me to give it to you only after he was gone.”
I let out a bitter laugh.
“What is it? Did he save every dollar of rent I paid him?”
Frank didn’t laugh with me. His expression remained serious.
“I wouldn’t make any guesses until you see what’s inside.”
My hands trembled as I picked at the tape. After several attempts, I finally managed to peel it away and lift the flaps.
For a moment, I thought Frank had brought me the wrong box.
Then I looked again.
My knees weakened, and I sank into Dad’s chair, sobbing so uncontrollably that Frank had to reach out and hold me upright.
Inside the box was an old leather vest covered in faded band patches, backstage passes, guitar picks, and photographs of Dad performing onstage.
