And I watched Ollie’s hand tighten on it, and I watched him look at me — and I knew what he was looking for, because I’d seen it a hundred times by then.

He was waiting for me to tell him to give it to her.

To hand over the thing he wanted, because that was the only way he’d ever been allowed to love his sister: by giving her everything and keeping nothing.

And I said, “It’s your present, bud.

Your birthday.

You don’t have to give it up.” He stared at me like I’d said something in another language.

“But she wants it,” he said.