Chapter 2: The Boy in the Photograph
Thomas didn't stop reaching for the photograph until Roy stepped backward and held it above his shoulder.
"Give it back!"" Thomas shouted.
Roy studied him.
"Funny. You looked pretty calm when you were telling everybody your father had no family left.""
"That photograph is private!""
Margaret stared at her stepson.
"Why are you frightened of a picture?""
Thomas turned toward her.
"Because you're here to destroy the last thing my father wanted!""
Margaret flinched.
Roy lowered the photograph enough to examine it again.
"Mrs. Dawson, do you know this child?""
Margaret nodded slowly.
"I knew him.""
Thomas let out a sharp breath.
"Of course you did. You always knew how to lie.""
Margaret looked at him.
"I didn't lie about him.""
"Then tell them who he is!""
She couldn't answer immediately.
The little boy in the photograph had been wearing a blue sweater with a missing button. His hair was neatly combed, and one of his small hands rested against Henry's leg.
Margaret remembered that sweater.
She remembered sewing the missing button back on the night before the photograph was taken.
She remembered the boy refusing to eat carrots.
She remembered Henry carrying him on his shoulders through the neighborhood.
And she remembered the day he disappeared from their lives.
"His name was Daniel," she finally said.
A woman in the second pew leaned forward.
"Daniel who?""
Margaret looked at the photograph.
"Daniel Dawson.""
Thomas laughed bitterly.
"There was no Daniel Dawson.""
Margaret's head snapped toward him.
"Don't do that.""
"Do what?""
"Don't stand in front of these people and erase a child because you're afraid of what your father wrote.""
Thomas stepped closer.
"You have no idea what happened.""
"Then explain it.""
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Roy noticed.
So did the funeral director.
The director cleared his throat.
"Mr. Dawson, there are additional instructions attached to your father's estate file.""
Thomas turned sharply.
"What instructions?""
The director pulled a second sheet from his folder.
"Your father requested that Mrs. Dawson receive the original letter, a photograph album, and a sealed legal document after the funeral.""
Thomas snatched at the folder.
"That's my father's property.""
The director held it back.
"It was his property. He gave specific instructions.""
"Then I'll challenge them!""
Roy folded his arms.
"Maybe you should hear what the man wanted before you start threatening everybody.""
Thomas pointed at him.
"You don't know anything about this family.""
"You're right," Roy replied.
"But I knew Henry. And he never mentioned being abandoned by his wife.""
Thomas's jaw tightened.
"Because he was protecting her.""
Margaret froze.
"What did you say?""
Thomas seemed to realize he had spoken too quickly.
He looked away.
Margaret stepped closer.
"You just said your father was protecting me.""
"I said nothing.""
"You said he was protecting me. From what?""
Thomas shook his head.
"This is not the time.""
"When is the time, Thomas? Another twenty years?""
His eyes hardened.
"Ask yourself why he waited until he was dying to contact you.""
Margaret's face crumpled.
She had asked herself that question every night since receiving his letter.
For twenty years, she had lived in a small apartment in another state, working part-time at a dry cleaner until her hands became too painful to continue. She had kept Henry's old wedding ring in a velvet box beside her bed.
She had written dozens of letters.
None had ever received an answer.
Sometimes she had called the house and heard Thomas's voice.
He always told her Henry didn't want to speak to her.
And she had believed him.
Until three weeks ago.
Roy noticed the way Margaret's fingers were tightening around the envelope.
"Ma'am, do you need to sit down?""
She shook her head.
"Not yet.""
Then she looked at Thomas.
"Where is Daniel?""
Thomas stared at her.
"He died.""
The words landed like a physical blow.
Margaret grabbed the edge of a nearby pew.
Roy immediately reached for her elbow.
"Take it easy.""
Margaret's lips parted.
"When?""
Thomas looked down.
"Years ago.""
"How?""
"An accident.""
"What kind of accident?""
Thomas rubbed his forehead.
"I don't remember every detail.""
Margaret stared at him.
"That was my child.""
Thomas's voice rose.
"He wasn't your child!""
The entire church went silent.
Margaret looked at him as though she had never seen him before.
Then she spoke with a firmness that surprised even Roy.
"Henry and I raised Daniel for six years. I changed his diapers, sat beside him when he had pneumonia, and held his hand when he was afraid of thunderstorms. You may not have liked him, Thomas, but you do not get to tell me he wasn't my child.""
Thomas's face reddened.
"He was a mistake.""
Roy took one step forward.
"Watch your mouth.""
The funeral director quietly asked everyone to remain calm.
But Thomas had already lost control.
"You people have no idea what that boy did to my family!""
Margaret's eyes widened.
"What did Daniel do?""
Thomas looked toward the closed casket at the front of the church.
For a moment, something resembling grief crossed his face.
Then it vanished.
"He took everything.""
Margaret shook her head.
"Daniel was six years old.""
Thomas said nothing.
Roy looked down at the photograph again.
The little boy was smiling.
There was something familiar about his face, something that made Roy's expression change.
He turned the photograph over.
A handwritten date appeared beneath the image.
October 14, 1987.
And underneath it, in Henry's handwriting, were seven words:
The day both my sons became brothers.
Roy read the sentence twice.
"Both my sons?""
Margaret leaned forward.
"What?""
Roy showed her the writing.
She began crying again.
Thomas suddenly reached for the photograph.
But this time, Roy stepped aside and let him see the back.
Thomas stared at the date.
Then he whispered:
"He promised he destroyed that.""
Margaret slowly turned toward him.
"Destroyed what?""
Thomas looked at the photograph.
Then he looked toward the funeral director.
May you like
And he said something that made the director drop his folder.
"Where is the second envelope?""
