Caleb leaned against the truck and stared at the pavement. “My mom got sick six years ago,” he said. “I left my job in Dayton to take care of her. The medical bills ate everything, and the house went to the bank after she passed.” He swallowed. “Winston was hers. He’s the last thing I have left of her.”

I asked why he had never called anyone. He gave a small, tired laugh. “Everyone remembered the trophy, Mrs. Dalton. I couldn’t let them see this.” Then headlights swung across the lot, and an old man in a canvas coat climbed out of a van marked with a church name. He walked straight toward us, looking at Caleb.