It was the boredom.

Arthur described the problem of his mother’s loneliness the way another man might describe a leaking pipe, a nuisance to be handled by the appropriate contractor at the appropriate rate.

There was no anguish in him, no guilt, not even the defensiveness of a man who knows he is doing wrong and needs to justify it.

He had simply filed his mother under problems, subcategory reputational, and moved on to the efficient solution, which was me.

I understand now that this is the truest portrait of the man I ever got, clearer than anything that came later.