“Oh, yes. Gone and long forgotten.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s too sad, and I don’t believe it to be true.”
He huffed. “I wouldn’t know that boy if I met him again. Thank the Lord that my father eradicated any trace of me here in this house. There are no reminders, nothing left from my childhood.”
“There must be something. Something to remind you of what you once were. What you still are, deep inside.” Her mind groped for something, anything. And then she remembered and jumped up.
“I know!” She walked over to a cupboard and, after a quick scan, pulled down a box from the top shelf. A cloud of dust rose up. She offered it to him. “Recognize this?” She didn’t have a clue what was inside but knew it was his by the childish scrawl proclaiming it to be on the outside.
Sebastian didn’t move. He didn’t say anything and for a minute, she thought something was wrong. And then slowly he took the box from her, studying the top for a moment before placing it on the table. A small padlock kept its contents secure. He looked at her.
She shrugged. “It’s always been there. There are other things too. Things from generations past. But this has your name written on it.”
He frowned. “Have you looked inside?”
She shook her head and gestured. “I couldn’t. The padlock.”
“It’s easily broken.”
“It’s not mine to break,” she said quietly.
“No, I guess it’s mine to open.” He took a deep breath and flicked through the numbers on the padlock. It opened instantly. “The date of my birthday,” he said by way of explanation. “At least my ability to create passwords has developed, even…”
He stopped short when confronted with a sight he mustn’t have seen for at least two decades or more. Letters. A lot of letters. She looked from him to the letters.
“Are these from your father to you?”
“No,” he said grimly. “These aremyletters to him. Some of which I sent, and others which I didn’t send.”
“How come you have the sent ones?”
“I found them in the bin and retrieved them.”
He was about to close the box when she stopped him and pulled out a letter. “Please? Would you let me read one? Just to know the boy that once was.”
He shrugged and walked away. “Sure, be my guest. They’re simply the childish scribblings of a sentimental boy. Nothing to do with me.”
“You, sentimental?” She smiled, and he raised an eyebrow as if daring her to laugh at him. As if she would. She unfolded the letter and was immediately struck by the juvenile script. It nearly broke her heart as she imagined him carefully forming his letters to impress his father.
“Okay, tell me the worst. What am I trying to tell my father?”
“You’re writing about a soccer game.” She read on, smiled, and looked up at him. “You’re certainly not holding back. You’re telling him how great you were on the pitch and how you saved the game by scoring a goal.”
He grunted, but his eyes glazed over as he cast his mind back twenty years. “I was good at soccer. There’s no point going through life pretending you’re bad at something when you’re not. Especially with a father like mine.”
“You were at boarding school by this time?”
“Yes.”
“May I?” she asked, riffling through the envelopes and selecting one with an even more immature hand.
He shrugged. “Why not? I hardly think you’re going to find anything earth shattering. They’re the rambling thoughts of a child.”
She scanned the new letter and blinked back the tears.