Caleb stared at it.
“You left it on the porch,” Ray said. “The next morning, I came back to get it, and it was gone. I figured you threw it out. Then about a week later, it showed up in my mailbox at home. No note. Just the glove.” He held it out. “I always figured that was a kid’s way of saying, hang onto this for me. So I did.”
Caleb took it. He turned it over in his hands. Then he put it on. It was too small now. His fingers didn’t fit all the way in.
“I outgrew it,” he said, and his voice cracked.
“Yeah,” Ray said. “Guess we’d better get you a new one.”
That night, after Caleb was asleep, I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand.
Twelve voicemails from Ray Delgado.
I listened to every one.
