“Yes, Caleb,” I whispered.

“He was.

He was the very best kind of guardian angel there is.” I have never corrected that word, guardian angel, in all the years since, though I am not sure it is quite the right one.

Arthur was not an angel.

He was a man, flawed and hard in his way, who had spent most of his life caring for the wrong things and knew it.

But perhaps that is exactly what makes his last act shine as brightly as it does.