On the screen, Lucas picked up a second life jacket, an adult one, and began adjusting the heavy shoulder straps with the same unhurried, practiced care he gave every piece of safety gear he ever touched.

He did it while he talked, not even looking at his brother, as if the jacket were the thing that mattered and the words were just coming along for the ride.

“Kids don’t remember every expensive toy you buy them, Zach,” he said.

“They really don’t.

But they remember whether you showed up.

Every time.

That’s the whole thing.

That’s the only thing they keep.”