And I stood at the gate for about four minutes being angry at my brother, who had done nothing except be twenty-six.

And then I remembered Margaret at her kitchen table with that book in both hands.

She had been very careful with it.

Not reverent — careful, the way she was careful with the oven door and with a certain stepladder.

And she had said a thing to me once, probably in 2021, that I had not thought about since the afternoon she said it.

She said: “If you ever have to take that book to the bank, ask for Arthur.”