And when she died I sat in the second row at her funeral and listened to my sister give a eulogy about paying attention.

“I’d have paid for that joke. I want you to hear that. I’d have paid a hundred thousand dollars for it, cheerfully, and I’d have deserved it. But five million dollars and a grandmother is not a proportionate price for a joke at a table, and you have known that for seven years, and you have never once said it out loud, because you’re the one who got paid.”

I let it sit, because he was right.

“You’re right,” I said.

Marcus blinked.

“You’re right about the proportion. I’ve thought it and I’ve never said it and that’s cowardice, and I’m saying it now. It wasn’t proportionate. She wrote those checks in November, Marcus.