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

I asked the question I had been carrying since two fifteen.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

Claire looked at the ceiling and then at the curtain.

“He told me you were just an old farmer who spent his days cutting hay and keeping his head down.” She pulled the blanket higher.

“I didn’t want you to see it.”

“What was it about?” I said.

“Tonight.

What started it?”