It was to get up, walk out, and build my own table somewhere the light was better — a place where the only requirement for a seat was that you were loved, and where love, having no price, was therefore never for sale.

He thought about it, in the careful way he has.

“So Grandpa could have bought me dinner that night.”

No anger in it.

Just the clean arithmetic of a child.

“Yes,” I said.

“He could have.”

“Why didn’t he want to?”

I looked out at the water.

“Because some people believe money decides who matters and who doesn’t.