his name on a gravestone before I could believe he was really gone.
An elderly groundskeeper watched me from a distance.
“Who are you looking for, son?”
“Ernest Sullivan. His wife said he’s buried here.”
The man’s face went pale.
“You’re Michael.”
A chill ran through my body.
“How do you know my name?”
The groundskeeper glanced toward the cemetery entrance and lowered his voice.
“Because your father asked me to give you this if you ever came looking for him.”
He pulled a yellow envelope from his vest pocket
