“Let them.”
Upstairs, Darius entered his room.
Miles had not been inside much lately.
Darius's walls carried basketball posters, team photographs, and old medals hanging from the corner of his mirror.
He opened the closet.
Then pulled a plastic storage bin from the top shelf.
He sat on the floor.
Miles stood near the door.
Darius opened it.
The baseball glove lay inside.
Miles's throat closed.
He stepped closer.
Marcus Carter's initials were still burned into the leather.
M.C.
Miles picked it up.
For a second, he was nine again.
His father in the backyard.
“Two hands, Miles.”
“Don't catch like the ball insulted you.”
He sat on the floor.
Darius whispered:
“I didn't know.”
Miles did not answer.
“I swear.”
Still nothing.
Darius continued:
“Mom said Grandpa thought I should have something of Dad's too.”
Miles looked at him.
“Did that sound weird?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Darius looked down.
“I wanted it anyway.”
There.
Not innocence polished too clean.
A boy wanting proof.
“I knew it was probably something special to you.”
“You never asked?”
“No.”
Miles looked at the glove.
“Why?”
Darius's eyes filled.
“Because I was scared if I asked, you'd say yes, it was yours.”
Miles almost laughed.
“That makes no sense.”
“I know.”
Darius wiped his face.
“I was fourteen and everybody kept calling him your dad.”
Miles stared.
“He was your dad.”
“I know.”
“Then why take my stuff?”
Darius looked ashamed.
“Because when Mom gave me something that had been yours, I thought she was proving I counted too.”
Miles swallowed.
There it was again.
Adults had created a measurement.
The boys had learned to use it.
Darius pulled more things from the bin.
The blue jacket.
Too small now.
A pair of headphones with one cracked ear cushion.
A small wooden model airplane.
Miles frowned.
“That was mine?”
Darius nodded.
“You got it from Dad's office.”
Miles had forgotten.
Darius pushed the bin toward him.
“Take everything.”
Miles looked.
“No.”
Darius stared.
“What?”
“The jacket doesn't fit me.”
“Then throw it away.”
“You throw it away.”
Darius almost smiled.
Miles touched the headphones.
“You can keep those.”
“No.”
“You use them.”
“They were yours.”
Miles thought.
“Then I'm giving them to you.”
The distinction mattered.
Darius looked at him.
“Seriously?”