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his chair. “I should have stopped Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
“No excuse.”
“No.”
He nodded, accepting it. “I think I liked that she didn’t know, or that she pretended not to know. It let me pretend, too.”
I watched my brother’s hands. Roofing hands. Scarred knuckles. Cracked skin. A wedding band still shiny and new.
“When Dad got hurt,” he said quietly, “everybody continue reading …
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