Caleb worked his tongue into the gap where his front tooth was missing and looked from his father’s face over to mine.

“Let your grandmother read through the pages first, Daniel,” I said.

“There’s nothing to read through,” Daniel said, setting a black ballpoint pen beside my napkin.

“It’s ordinary family paperwork.

We’re doing this to keep your care arrangements organized.”

I lifted the top page back half an inch.

A heavy yellow summary sheet had been stapled tightly over the original printed header, covering the first lines of text entirely.

Under the yellow paper, three red arrow stickers pointed straight to blank signature lines at the bottom of the form.