“You didn’t always remember to eat.”

“No.” He turned the paper over.

“You were taking care of me in ways I never recognized.”

I shrugged.

“Sometimes I took care of you instead of paying attention to myself.

Neither of us was particularly balanced.”

We spent the afternoon sorting books and old photographs.

I kept a few items for June’s memory box, including a picture of Warren and me at seventeen, standing in front of a county fair Ferris wheel with matching paper wristbands.