Nathan came over and examined an old picture of himself wearing a crooked paper crown.

“Remember when we made the volcano from baking soda?

Dad said he’d take us to the science museum.

We waited all day.”

“I remember.”

“I used to think if I got perfect grades, he’d hear about it and come.”

My hands froze on the folder.

Nathan had always worked hard, but I had never realized how closely his academic ambition had been tied to that abandoned hope.