I knew Vance and Pete from fifteen years back, when I ran heavy freight across the state line.

They were the kind of men who took cash for dirty jobs and never asked one question.

Under the transfer receipt were two rectangular hospital birth certificates with raised silver seals.

The top one was a certificate of live birth for a boy named Luke Garrett Sullivan, born May twelfth at St.

Thomas Hospital.

On the line marked Father, my name was printed clearly in black ink.

The second was a certificate for a boy named Mason Dale Sullivan, born three minutes after his brother in the same room.