My sister, Catriona, came over just then, wiping her eyes. She threw her arms around me dramatically. “You know you’re my favorite brother,” she sniffed, even though I was her only brother. “Please, Royston, think of my boys. They need a yard to play in.”
I wanted to yell. But I couldn’t. Everyone was watching us—old family friends, cousins I barely knew, Grandpa’s church buddies. So I just nodded and stepped away, muttering something about needing air.
Out on the porch, the summer heat hit me like a wave. The wind rattled the old screen door Grandpa had fixed countless times. I could almost see him sitting there, in his favorite chair, telling me stories about how he and Grandma built this place from nothing.
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