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PROLOGUE
GRIFF
Seven years ago
“Burke, you’ve got mail!”
No one was more surprised than me when the correctional officer handed me a long yellow envelope, the flap open because of their inspection. I stared at my name written in bold letters, looking all neat and shit, and had a hard time processing that I had mail.
In the eleven years I’d been locked up, I’d never received any letters, although I sent them regularly.
“Thanks,” I mumbled and put the envelope on the table.
My cellmate, Grant, nudged me with his elbow. “Well, look at you. Who’s it from?”
Only one person could be sending me mail, but the return address wasn’t his. I frowned. The name wasn’t familiar. I didn’t know any Scott. Did I? It’d been so long since I’d seen other people than my fellow inmates and the guards that I couldn’t remember all those I’d interacted with when I was a free man.
“Have no idea.”
“Then open it.”
I swallowed and stared at the envelope. Who are you, Scott Dischinger? Only one way to find out. I’d seen inmates, sentenced for some of the most heinous crimes, receive fan letters from people who were obsessed with them, but my case had been low profile. No reason a random stranger should be writing to me.
I shook out the single sheet of paper. A thumbprint at the bottom, which must have been left behind by the correctional officer, distracted from the otherwise pristine look of the sheet. I unfolded the letter, which was all formal looking. The words were scribbled in neat handwriting. Every letter had been precisely formed.
Dear Mr. Burke,
You aren’t familiar with me, but it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sir. Before you wonder too much what a stranger is doing contacting you, I’d like to introduce myself. My name’s Scott, and I’m the best friend of your son, Jay. We’ve been best buds since the fifth grade.
Quite frankly, none of this is my business, but I care about your son and, I guess, as an extension, you as well. I would do anything in the world to make him happy, even if he’ll be mad later when he finds out that I reached out to you.
Over the years, I’ve watched Jay throw out each letter you sent him. He forbade me from ever reading them, but I got curious, and one day I stole one of the letters. I hope you can forgive me for reading it, but it was killing me inside, not knowing why he got so upset each time a letter appeared. After reading the letter for his birthday, I understood.
I’m sorry, but Jay never talks about you. It’s not because he doesn’t want to. He’s hurt and angry, so he never opens your letters. He’s not a bad guy, and I love him, but he can be a bit stubborn, so I’ve decided to step in the middle and fill in the gaps for both of you. For you at least. I can’t ever let Jay know I’m doing this. I’m sorry about that.
However, I can update you about your son and how he’s doing, if you don’t mind hearing from a third party. I’ve enclosed a picture of him. It’s not much, but I hope it’s somewhat helpful. I can’t imagine what it’s like for you not knowing what he looks like now.
Picture? What picture?
I shook out the envelope, and a photo fell on the table. I snatched it up and stared at the picture of my little boy. Not so little now. He was eighteen and looked nothing like me, although he had blue eyes. He resembled his mother with that oval face, the arch of his thin eyebrows, and the smile on his lips.
My throat thickened, and tears gathered in my eyes. I blinked them away. There was no place for tears in the rec room. Had I been in my cell, I would have let them fall.
My son. I hadn’t seen a photo of him in eleven years. How much he’d grown. And I hadn’t been there for any of his special moments.
“Who’s that?” Grant asked.
“He’s my kid.”
“Your son?” He shuffled closer and peered at the photo. “He’s handsome. Looks nothing like you.”
I laughed. “I know. That’s his momma right there. I can’t believe it. Look how grown he is.”
“Gonna be a heartbreaker too. All the mothers better lock up their daughters.”
“Actually, I think he might be gay,” I said, lowering my voice. “This letter seems to be from his boyfriend.”
“Yeah? You not freaked out or anything?”
