His car roared away while I stood in stunned silence.

"What the hell's in the box, sis?"

I walked to the table and lifted the lid, handing one of the Plexiglas-encased balls to my brother. It was marked with a small plaque showing the name and date.

"Holy shit, it's a Babe Ruth."

At least it was someone I'd heard of and I didn't feel stupid. I picked up another, lifting it to the dim light. Mickey Mantle, someone else I'd heard of, so I knew these balls ...