Mom was at the door. She hugged Mickey first, the way only Mom could. When Mom hugged, she gave it her all—holding nothing back. Mickey closed his eyes and soaked it in. Myron waited for the kid to cry, but Mickey wasn’t one for waterworks. Mom finally released him and threw the hug at her son. Then she stepped back, blocked their entrance, and fixed them both with a killer glare.

“What’s going on with you two?” Mom asked.

Myron said, “What do you mean?”

“Don’t hand me ‘what do you mean.’ Your father just tells me Mickey is staying here for a while. Nothing else. Don’t get me wrong. Mickey, I’m thrilled you’re staying with us. Too long in coming, you ask me, all this overseas nonsense. You belong here. With us. With your family.”

Mickey said nothing.

Myron asked, “Where’s Dad?”

“He’s in the basement getting your old bedroom ready for Mickey. So what’s going on?”

“Why don’t we get Dad and we can talk about it?”

“Fine with me,” Mom said, wagging her finger at him like, uh, a mother, “but no funny stuff.”

Funny stuff?

“Al? The kids are here.”

They entered the house. Mom closed the door behind them.

“Al?”

No reply.

They all shared a look, no one moving. Then Myron headed for the basement. The door down to Myron’s old bedroom—soon to be Mickey’s—was wide open. He called down to his father. “Dad?”

Still no answer.

Myron looked back at his mother. She looked more puzzled than anything else. Panic snaked its way into Myron’s chest. He fought it off and half jumped, half ran down the basement stairs. Mickey followed close behind.

Myron pulled up short when he got to the bottom of the stairs. Mickey crashed into him, knocking him a little forward. But Myron didn’t feel a thing. He stared in front of him and felt his entire world begin to crumble.

Chapter 26

26

When Myron was ten years old and Brad was five, Dad took them to Yankee Stadium for a game against the Red Sox. Most boys have a memory like this—that major-league baseball game with your dad, the perfect July weather, that jaw-dropping moment you come out of whatever tunnel and see the ballpark for the very first time, the almost-painted green of the grass, the sun shining as though it were the first day, your heroes in uniform warming up with the ease of the gifted.

But this particular game would be different.