He pulled out a yellowed envelope.
Inside was a letter and an old key.
The tag on it read: STORAGE UNIT 108.
""""But — where is my father bur*ed?""""
The groundskeeper swallowed hard.
""""Son, I've worked this ground nineteen years.
I dig them and I mow them and I know every name on this hill.""""
He put his hand on my arm.
""""Clayton Kemp isn't on it.""""
I unfolded the letter.
The first line read:
After three years in prison, I came home expecting nothing more than to hug my father.
