Then he looked across the yard at me, waiting for an explanation.
He was four years old.
Children that age believe adults can explain everything.
They believe there must be a sensible reason a grandmother would feed one grandson and reject another.
They believe laughter means something happy happened.
I could see him trying to fit what he had heard into that innocent understanding of the world, and I knew there was no answer I could give him that would make my mother’s words harmless.
I crossed the lawn before anyone could make another joke.
My mother still held the plate near her shoulder, wearing the satisfied expression she used whenever she believed she had reminded everyone who mattered most in the family.
My sister Chelsea stood beside the cooler with one hand wrapped around her drink.
She did not defend Dany.
She did not tell Mom to stop.
