“I kept more things than I had a right to.”
Lucas stepped closer.
“I’m Lucas.”
Then he pointed toward the field.
“Are you any good?”
His father gave a nervous smile.
“Not really.”
“You owned a glove.”
“Having a glove and being good are two completely different things.”
Lucas smiled.
They started throwing the ball.
At first, it was awkward.
One throw went too high.
Lucas missed it.
“Sorry,” his father said. “That one was my fault.”
“I should’ve caught it.”
“No. I threw it badly.”
I stood several yards away.
After a while, Lucas asked him something I couldn’t hear.
His father crouched beside him.
My body automatically moved one step forward.
Then I stopped.
Lucas looked at him.
The man answered.
I stayed where I was.
One afternoon did not suddenly make him part of our family.
The first week, he called once.
The next week, twice.
He never showed up without asking.
He never demanded that Lucas call him Dad.
