#uncle jack

The search for Carter Robinavitch's missing baseball glove had started inside the hall closet and eventually driven them into the garage, where Robby was beginning to suspect it had disappeared into whatever dimension also contained unmatched socks and every screwdriver he had ever purchased.

“It has to be out here,” Robby said as he pulled a cloudy plastic tote away from the wall. “You had it when we played catch last weekend.”

Carter stood beside the workbench with his hands planted on his hips. “Maybe you put it somewhere.”

Robby looked over his shoulder. “It’s your glove.”

“You touched it too,” Carter argued.

“I threw a baseball into it,” Robby said. “That does not make me responsible for its long-term storage.”

Carter tilted his head. “You’re the adult.”

Robby stared at his son for a long moment.

“That argument only works when it benefits you,” Robby said.

Carter shrugged without remorse. “It benefits me now.”

The July heat had settled thickly inside the garage despite the wide-open door. Sunlight stretched across the concrete floor, catching dust in the air. Somewhere down the block, a lawn mower droned steadily, and the smell of freshly cut grass drifted in on the occasional breeze.

Robby lifted the lid from the first tote and stared down at several tangled extension cords, a broken desk lamp, and a curved piece of plastic that no longer appeared connected to anything useful.

“No glove,” Robby announced.

Carter leaned over the side of the tote. “What’s that?”

“Evidence that I don’t know how to throw things away,” Robby said.

Carter picked up the plastic attachment and turned it over. “What does it do?”

Robby took it from him and examined it. “I have no idea.”

“Then why do you have it?” Carter asked.

“Because the second I throw it away, I’ll discover it’s the only thing keeping the house operational,” Robby said.

Carter nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”

“It really doesn’t,” Robby muttered.

He pushed the tote aside and reached behind two folded camping chairs. His fingers caught on the softened corner of a cardboard box wedged between an old cooler and the wall.

Robby pulled it free, sending a thin cloud of dust into the air.

Carter coughed dramatically and waved one hand in front of his face. “What’s in there?”

“Probably more evidence of poor decision-making,” Robby said as he wiped his palm over the top.

The cardboard had bowed inward with age. Its flaps were folded loosely over one another, and there was no label written across the side.

Carter immediately dropped to his knees beside it.

“Careful,” Robby warned as Carter reached for the top flap. “It might be important.”

Carter glanced at the buckling corners. “It looks old.”

“Old things can still be important,” Robby said.

“You said the vacuum piece was garbage,” Carter reminded him.

“That was different,” Robby said.

Carter looked up. “How?”

Robby opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

A small smile appeared on Carter’s face. “You don’t know.”

“I’m your father,” Robby said as he sat down on an overturned bucket. “I’m allowed to be inconsistent.”

Carter pulled the box closer. “Is that a real rule?”

“It is in this garage,” Robby said.

Carter peeled back the flaps and found the box filled with photographs.

Most were loose, their glossy surfaces faded and dulled with time. A few remained inside paper envelopes with dates scrawled across the fronts in blue ink.

Carter’s face brightened. “These are old pictures.”

Robby leaned forward to look inside. “That appears to be the theme.”

Carter pulled out the first photograph.

A much younger Robby stood waist-deep in lake water, both arms thrown into the air and his mouth open in outrage. Sunlit water droplets hung around him, and a dark object floated several feet away.

Carter held the photograph up. “What happened to you?”

Robby squinted at it. “Your aunt shoved me off the dock.”

Carter studied his father’s expression. “Why?”

“She was violent,” Robby said.

Carter looked over the top edge of the picture. “What did you do first?”

Robby shifted on the bucket.

Carter continued watching him.

“I may have thrown one of her sandals into the lake,” Robby admitted.

Carter glanced at the object floating behind him in the photograph. “Is that the sandal?”

“Probably,” Robby said.

“Then she wasn’t violent,” Carter decided. “She was getting it back.”

“With my body?” Robby asked incredulously.

Carter placed the picture carefully on the concrete. “It worked.”

Robby pointed at him. “You are disturbingly loyal to her.”

“She gives me money for the ice-cream truck,” Carter said.

“So your loyalty has been purchased,” Robby said.

Carter reached into the box again. “That’s how money works.”

The next photograph showed you and Robby sitting on the hood of an old car. You had one arm hooked around your brother’s neck while Robby held two rapidly melting ice-cream cones away from both of you. You were laughing. 

Carter smiled down at it. “Auntie looks the same.”

Robby leaned closer. “Tell her that. She’ll like you even more.”

“Her hair is different,” Carter observed.

“She’ll like that part less,” Robby said.

Carter placed the photograph beside the first and reached into the box again.

The next photograph made Carter laugh before Robby could see it.

“What?” Robby asked as he held out his hand. “Let me see.”

Carter passed it over, still grinning.

The picture had been taken at the end of a wooden dock. Robby and Jack were soaked through, barefoot in their swim trunks, and caught halfway through what looked like a wrestling match. Jack had one arm hooked around Robby’s neck while Robby had both arms locked around Jack’s waist, both of them grinning at the camera like they had spent the entire afternoon making themselves everyone else’s problem.

Carter leaned closer and pointed at Jack. “His hair is different.”

Robby looked down at the photograph. Jack’s hair had been dark then, wet curls falling over his forehead.

“It wasn’t gray yet,” Carter added.

“No,” Robby said. “It wasn’t.”

Carter studied the picture for another moment. “Who won?”

“I did,” Robby answered.

Carter looked at the way Jack had Robby caught beneath one arm. “It doesn’t look like you did.”

Robby lowered the photograph. “A picture only shows one second.”

Carter raised a skeptical brow. “Was that second before Uncle Jack threw you in?”

Robby set the photograph on the floor. “We’re moving on.”

Carter smiled. “That means yes.”

“It means history has been imperfectly preserved,” Robby countered.

Carter began sorting through the remaining photographs, creating loose, uneven piles on the garage floor.

There were pictures of you, and Robby stretched across a picnic blanket, each trying to shove the other out of the frame. Jack asleep in a lawn chair with an open paperback covering his face. All three of you crowded around a bonfire. Robby holding up a small fish while you stood behind him pretending to gag. Jack wearing mirrored sunglasses and looking deeply unimpressed with whoever held the camera.

An entire summer had been preserved in square, sun-faded pieces.

“Why is Auntie wearing Uncle Jack’s hat?” Carter asked as he held up another picture.

Robby glanced over. “Because your aunt stole anything that wasn’t physically attached to someone.”

Carter looked at the baseball cap sitting low over your eyes. “Did she give it back?”

“Probably not,” Robby said.

Carter selected another picture. “Why is Uncle Jack asleep on the grass?”

“He claimed it was comfortable,” Robby said.

Carter looked at him. “Was it?”

“No,” Robby answered.

“Then why did he sleep there?” Carter asked.

“He was in his twenties,” Robby said with a shrug. “Logic was still developing.”

Carter placed that photograph onto the pile and reached deeper into the box.

Then he stopped.

Robby did not notice immediately. He had moved to the shelves and was checking behind a stack of old folding chairs.

When Carter remained quiet for several seconds, Robby looked back.

His son sat perfectly still, one photograph held carefully between both hands.

“What did you find?” Robby asked.

Carter did not answer.

His brow had furrowed as he stared at the picture.

“Carter?” Robby prompted as he straightened.

Carter slowly turned the photograph around.

Robby recognized it immediately.

You were curled sideways in the passenger seat of Jack’s old Jeep, your knees pulled close. Your arms were folded across Jack’s shoulder, and your cheek rested on top of them, your body tucked comfortably into his side.

Jack sat behind the wheel in a plain white T-shirt, his head tipped back against the seat. His dark hair was thick and wind-tossed, and his eyes were closed. A soft, private smile rested on his mouth.

The lake stretched blue behind you beneath a nearly white summer sky.

Nothing about the photograph had been arranged.

That was what made it intimate.

You looked as though you had folded yourself against Jack without thinking. Jack looked as though he had forgotten anyone else was there.

Carter looked from the photograph to Robby.

“She’s using him as a pillow,” Carter said.

“She had a tendency to do that,” Robby replied.

Carter looked down at the picture again. “Does she still?”

“No,” Robby said.

Carter raised his head. “Why not?”

Robby turned toward the shelves again. “People get older.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Carter said.

Robby closed his eyes briefly.

“No,” Robby admitted. “It doesn’t.”

Carter traced one finger carefully along the faded white edge.

“Uncle Jack looks happy,” Carter said.

Robby glanced back at the photograph.

Jack did look happy.

Not the quiet, restrained happiness Robby knew now. Not the small smile Jack gave Carter after a joke or the tired amusement he wore after a manageable shift.

He looked young and completely unguarded.

He looked gone for you.

“He was,” Robby said.

Carter’s eyes shifted to your face. “Auntie looks happy too.”

“Yeah,” Robby said softly. “She was.”

Carter studied the two of you for another moment.

Then he looked up at his father.

“Were they boyfriend and girlfriend?” Carter asked.

Robby huffed out a quiet laugh. “That depends which one you ask.”

Carter shifted closer. “What does Uncle Jack say?”

“He says they were,” Robby replied.

Carter glanced down at the photograph. “What does Auntie say?”

“She says it was only a summer,” Robby said.

Carter frowned. “That’s not no.”

“No,” Robby conceded. “It isn’t.”

“Did they kiss?” Carter asked.

Robby gave him a warning look. “I’m not discussing your aunt’s kissing history with you.”

Carter pointed toward the photograph. “They look like they kissed.”

Robby pressed his lips together, trying not to laugh. “You’re nine.”

“I know what kissing is,” Carter said.

“That is not the reassuring statement you think it is,” Robby replied.

Carter looked at the photograph again. “Why did they stop being boyfriend and girlfriend?”

Robby reached into the box and began gathering some of the scattered pictures. “Jack joined the Army. He left for basic training at the end of that summer.”

“Did they break up?” Carter asked.

“Not exactly,” Robby answered.

“Did they have a fight?” Carter asked.

“No,” Robby said.

“Did Uncle Jack do something bad?” Carter continued.

“No,” Robby replied.

“Did Auntie?” Carter asked.

“No,” Robby said again.

Carter’s frown deepened. “Then why did they stop?”

“Because Jack left,” Robby explained.

“But he came back,” Carter pointed out.

“Eventually,” Robby said.

“And Auntie was still here,” Carter added.

Robby gave him a wary look. “Yes.”

Carter stared at his father. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“No,” Robby said before he could stop himself. “It doesn’t.”

Carter’s expression changed.

It was subtle, a thoughtful press of his mouth, a slight narrowing of his eyes, but Robby recognized the look. His son had found a problem, and he was beginning to organize it inside his head.

Robby held out his hand. “Let me have that before you bend it.”

Carter kept the photograph resting on his knees. “Did Auntie want Uncle Jack to stay?”

“I don’t know,” Robby said.

“You know everything about Auntie,” Carter insisted.

“I absolutely do not,” Robby replied.

“She calls you every day,” Carter said.

“That doesn’t mean she provides a detailed emotional transcript,” Robby told him.

Carter studied Jack’s face. “Did Uncle Jack want her to wait?”

Robby hesitated.

Carter immediately looked up. “You made a face.”

“I did not make a face,” Robby said.

“You did,” Carter insisted.

“I have one face,” Robby replied.

“You have lots of faces,” Carter said. “That was your yes face.”

“I don’t have a yes face,” Robby argued.

“You do when Auntie asks if you ate lunch,” Carter said.

Robby pressed his lips together.

Carter nodded knowingly. “That one too.”

Robby stood and brushed the dust from his jeans. “We were looking for a baseball glove.”

Carter held the photograph against his shirt. “Did Auntie talk to him after he left?”

“She wrote to him,” Robby said as he moved another cooler away from the wall.

Carter’s eyes widened. “Real letters?”

“Yes, real letters,” Robby answered.

“With stamps?” Carter asked.

“With stamps,” Robby confirmed.

Carter stared at him. “Why didn’t she text him?”

Robby looked back over his shoulder. “Because some of us lived before constant internet access.”

Carter’s expression suggested this was barely believable.

“Does Uncle Jack still have them?” Carter asked.

Robby turned back to the shelves. “How would I know?”

“You’re his best friend,” Carter said.

“I do not inventory Jack’s personal belongings,” Robby replied.

Carter looked down at the picture. “They look like they loved each other.”

The simple certainty in his voice made Robby pause.

Robby considered correcting him. He could have explained that they had been young, that it had been brief, and that sometimes affection survived long after a relationship ended.

Instead, he remembered Jack leaving that summer.

He remembered you pretending not to be heartbroken.

“They did,” Robby said quietly.

Carter raised his eyes. “Do they still?”

Robby went still.

Outside, a dog barked twice. The air conditioner hummed through the garage wall, and a dry leaf scraped across the concrete.

Robby chose his answer carefully.

“They still love each other,” Robby said.

Carter’s expression turned impatient. “Like boyfriend-and-girlfriend love?”

“I don’t know,” Robby answered.

Carter continued watching him.

“It’s complicated,” Robby added.

Carter looked deeply unimpressed. “That usually means yes.”

Robby frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Movies,” Carter said.

“That explains very little and concerns me greatly,” Robby replied.

Carter glanced toward the house, where the television waited in the living room.

Robby began stacking the photographs and returning them to the cardboard box.

“We’re done with ancient history,” Robby said. “Help me check beneath that tarp.”

Carter glanced down at the Jeep photograph one last time.

While Robby turned to shift a pair of folding chairs and a cooler, Carter folded the picture against his palm, not enough to crease it, only enough to hide it, and slipped it carefully into the deep pocket of his shorts.

By the time Robby turned around, Carter was crouched near the canvas tarp with both hands apparently empty.

Together, they dragged the cooler several inches from the wall.

The edge of the canvas tarp shifted with it, revealing the worn leather pocket of Carter’s glove beneath a collapsed camping chair.

“There,” Robby said as he pointed. “Your glove.”

Carter dropped to his knees and pulled it free. “I knew it was out here.”

Robby stared at him. “You accused me of losing it.”

“I was considering possibilities,” Carter said as he slid the glove onto his hand.

“You owe me forty minutes,” Robby told him.

Carter opened and closed the glove. “How do I give you minutes?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Robby said.

Carter headed toward the open garage door, striking the glove with his fist as though catching an invisible ball.

At the threshold, he stopped.

“Your conference is next weekend, right?” Carter asked as he turned back.

Robby bent to replace the lid on a storage tote. “Yeah.”

“And Auntie’s staying with me?” Carter continued.

“She’s taking most of the weekend,” Robby answered.

Carter slipped one hand into the pocket containing the photograph. “Is Uncle Jack coming too?”

“He’s covering Saturday while your aunt has plans,” Robby said.

Carter’s fingers settled against the faded edge of the picture.

“Only Saturday?” Carter asked.

Robby looked up. “Why?”

Carter withdrew his empty hand from his pocket. “No reason.”

“That sounded like a reason,” Robby said.

Carter began walking backward toward the house. “Can we watch a movie tonight?”

Robby narrowed his eyes. “Which movie?”

“I’ll pick,” Carter said as he turned around.

“That answer did not make me less suspicious,” Robby called after him.

Carter disappeared inside without responding.

Robby remained in the garage, surrounded by open bins and displaced camping equipment, with the uneasy feeling that he had just told his son something he would eventually regret.

Inside the house, Carter carried the photograph directly to his bedroom and tucked it beneath the book on his nightstand.

Then he returned to the living room, picked up the remote, and searched until he found the movie he remembered seeing advertised.

Two girls smiled back at him from the screen beneath the title.

Carter settled into the couch and selected The Parent Trap.

By the time Robby came inside, Carter was watching very carefully.

Auntie was staying Friday.

Uncle Jack was only coming Saturday.

Carter kept his eyes on the girls scheming across the screen.