Samuel Reed Kept an Old Wooden Bat Behind the Pantry Door for Twenty Years

I drove home with a certified copy folded in my inside coat pocket.

Claire was in the back room with a mug of tea she had not drunk.

I unfolded the copy on the desk and turned it around to face her.

She looked at it a long while.

Then she set the mug down and brought her arms in tight.

“That’s it,” she said.

“That’s the paper.”

“Take your time.”