I sat with those words for a long time.

My father had made childhood feel like a contest in which Whitney received the ribbon and I was expected to applaud.

But my grandmother had imagined something different for both of us.

One evening Whitney asked if she could meet me in town.

I chose a public café and brought Beatrice.

Whitney arrived without the polished confidence she had worn at her engagement party.

She apologized for calling my accident an inconvenience.