Each time, he hoped a line would appear explaining what was inside locker seventeen.
Nothing did.
The main paragraph was simple.
Mack,
If the boy is standing in front of you, then I ran out of time. Don’t scare him. He notices more than people think. Feed him first because he gets quiet when he’s hungry and stubborn when he’s nervous. You were the same way at twenty-five.
Mack had nearly laughed at that.
Then:
I know you kept the promise. All four of you. I know none of you went back. I shouldn’t have asked that of boys who were already carrying too much. I am asking something different now.
Take Eli to Red Hollow. Take his mother. Take the others. Use the brass key. North pier. Locker seventeen.
And Mack—whatever you find, listen before you get angry.
That line bothered him most.
Walter knew Mack.
If he had specifically written listen before you get angry, then whatever waited in that locker was personal.
The final lines:
You once told me you owed me your life. I told you that was nonsense. Maybe you’ll believe me this time.
Take care of the boy if I can’t.
—Walter
Then on the back:
Red Hollow. One last time.
The boy’s mother eventually approached.
She stood beside the booth.
“Can I sit?”
Mack moved.
She took the chair beside Eli.
Her son was halfway through his burger.
Mack asked:
“You knew what the letter said?”
“No.”
“Did Walter tell you about the bridge?”
“A little.”
“How much?”
“That there was an accident when he was young.”
Mack watched her.
“He never told you why we stopped speaking?”
She hesitated.
“You stopped speaking?”
The long-bearded biker looked at Mack.
Mack answered:
“For a long time.”
“How long?”
“Too long.”
Eli looked up from his burger.
“Were you mad at Grandpa?”
Mack rubbed his beard.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mack looked at the boy’s mother.
She said quietly:
“He should know whatever my father wanted him to know.”
Mack nodded.
But not yet.
He pointed toward the letter.
“Did Walter leave anything else?”
“Not for me.”
“No documents?”
“Some boxes.”
“Anything about Red Hollow?”
She thought.
“There was an old newspaper clipping.”
“What clipping?”
“Bridge collapse.”
Every biker at the table went still again.
“Where?”
“In his nightstand.”
“Do you have it?”
She reached into her purse.
Pulled out a folded plastic sleeve.
Inside was an old newspaper article.
The paper had yellowed.
The photograph showed twisted steel hanging above the river.