“Tyler?”
He appeared in the kitchen doorway, and I nearly dropped my coffee.
I called Mr. Lewis, expecting a simple explanation.
Instead, he was crying.
“A photograph.”
“I couldn’t finish after what Tyler did,” he said.
“What happened?”
“Please come with him. He brought something here you need to see.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
I looked at Tyler. He dropped his eyes.
I grabbed my purse, and we headed back to the shop. During the three-block walk, I tried everything to get Tyler to tell me about the photo. He wouldn’t say a word.
“What man?”
****
When we arrived, Mr. Lewis silently led me to his chair.
An old photograph lay beside his clippers. A young man stared at the camera, a dark birthmark above his eye.
“Why did you stop in the middle of his haircut?”
His eyes went to Tyler. “Buddy, the man who walked you here. How long have you known him?”
I turned to my son. “What man?”
“An adult man has been meeting you at the park?”
Tyler stared at his sneakers. “Just a friend.”
“What friend?”
“He sits by the ballfield sometimes. We talk about baseball.”
“How many times?”
“I don’t know. Maybe five.”
My stomach tightened. “An adult man has been meeting you at the park?”
“He’s old, Mom. And he’s nice.”
“That birthmark… I’ve seen it before.”
I looked at Mr. Lewis. “Who is he?”
His eyes returned to the photograph.
“I think I know. That birthmark… I’ve seen it before. But I need to be sure.”
“Sure about what?”
“Rachel, how much do you remember from when you were five?”
I stared at him. “What?”
“You’re scaring me.”
“Do you have baby pictures?”
“What does that have to do with Tyler?”
“Did your parents ever tell you about anything that happened before you started school?”
“Stop.”
“Did they ever hide anything from you?”
“You’re scaring me.”
“You’re crazy.”
He stepped closer. “That man didn’t choose Tyler by accident.”
“Then tell me who he is.”
“I can’t. Not until I’m certain.”
I grabbed Tyler’s hand. “You’re crazy.”
“Rachel…”
“Don’t call us again. Tyler isn’t coming back here.”
I pulled open the door.
“Go home and check your parents’ papers,” Mr. Lewis called after me. “Look for the year you turned five.”
I didn’t turn around.
“Did that man ever tell you his name?”
***
Back home, I sat Tyler on a kitchen stool and evened out his hair with the kitchen scissors, trying to keep my hands from shaking. He watched me in the little mirror on the counter, quieter than any eight-year-old should be.
