Russell followed.
“Where are you going?”
“Dutch’s locker.”
Jim crossed the rear hall.
A small room behind Blackstone had been used for years as temporary club storage.
Dutch kept an old metal cabinet there.
After his death, Jim had cleared most of it.
One shelf remained untouched.
Jim returned carrying a long brown envelope.
Leo saw his name immediately.
FOR ARTHUR’S BOY
Claire stopped breathing.
Jim looked at her.
“I found this after Dutch died.”
“Why didn’t you give it to us?”
“I didn’t know Arthur had a son.”
Claire stared.
Jim continued quickly.
“Dutch never talked about family unless he had permission.”
“He told me Arthur had married.”
“Never gave me your name.”
“When I found the envelope, I asked around.”
“Nobody knew who ‘Arthur’s boy’ meant.”
Russell said, “You didn’t think to ask me?”
Jim looked embarrassed.
“No.”
Russell folded his arms.
“You threatened me over a motorcycle but couldn’t ask whether Arthur Hayes had a kid?”
Jim ignored him.
Leo pointed.
“Open it.”
Claire looked at him.
“It’s addressed to you.”
Leo looked at the envelope.
He suddenly seemed eight again.
“Can you?”
Claire nodded.
They sat at Russell’s workbench.
Leo beside his mother.
Jim opposite them.
Claire carefully broke the seal.
Inside was a folded letter.
A small photograph.
And one brass key.
Leo picked up the photograph first.
It showed three people beside Dutch’s FXR.
Dutch.
Much younger.
Black beard.
Long hair.
Smiling.
Beside him stood a teenage Arthur Hayes.
Thin.
Greasy hands.
Arms crossed.
Trying very hard not to smile.
On Arthur’s other side stood Thomas Hayes.
The grandfather Leo had never met.
Thomas had one hand on Arthur’s shoulder.
Nobody in the photograph looked like they were competing.
That affected Claire more than anything.
Leo stared at his father’s teenage face.
“He looks like me.”
Jim smiled.
“A little.”
Claire whispered, “A lot.”
Leo turned the photograph over.
Dutch had written:
The night my son fixed my motorcycle and I started learning how to be his father.
Leo swallowed.
Claire opened the letter.
The handwriting was rough.
Large.
Uneven.
She looked at Leo.
“Want me to read it?”
He nodded.
Claire began.
“Leo.”
She stopped.
“He knew your name.”
Jim looked surprised too.
Claire continued.
“If you’re reading this, then either your father finally decided you were old enough to understand our ridiculous family, or I died before I found the courage to explain it myself.”
Leo looked toward Jim.
Jim whispered, “Sounds like Dutch.”
Claire kept reading.
“I hope Arthur is sitting beside you.”
“If he is, he is probably correcting every sentence.”
“If he isn’t, then I am more sorry than this paper can carry.”
Claire had to stop.
Leo looked down.
“Keep going.”
She did.
“Arthur Hayes was my biological son.”
“But if anybody tells you that makes me more his father than Thomas Hayes was, they are wrong.”
“Thomas raised him.”