a person.
A brother.
A man who had waited too long for an apology that never came.
When we returned home, Claire asked whether I wanted to keep the suit.
I told her I did.
We had it cleaned and repaired one final time, taking care to preserve the original label and stitching. Then we placed it in a protective garment box alongside the letters and photographs.
My father came over one Sunday to help us arrange everything.
For hours, we sat at the dining-room table, reading the correspondence and
