old-fashioned even then, with wide shoulders and a heavy black fabric that looked almost blue under bright light.
I once asked him why he never bought a new one.
He smiled and tapped the lapel.
“Because some things become more valuable the longer you keep them.”
I thought he was talking about the quality of the fabric.
I was twelve when he died, and too young to understand that people sometimes hide their regrets inside ordinary objects.
After his funeral, the suit disappeared.
My grandmother told me she had given
