My knees were red from the hard wood floor. I busied myself stacking blocks with Brandon, who was now one year old. The insurance adjustor sat at the table picking up paper after paper and squinting over his glasses while my parents shift from one butt cheek to the other and periodically nod in unison. “History of heart attack?” he said with a serious scowl. “No,” my mother said into her glass of water, pretending to be very thirsty all of a sudden. “Yes we do,” I said. “Grandpa had a heart attack!” My mother paused to glare at me while the man was gazing curiously in my direction. I knew instinctively that I should not have spoken but the damage was done. I backed slowly toward the stairs, leaving my brother helpless on the floor. I sat on the floor of my bedroom closet for what seemed like hours waiting. I knew it was coming. I heard the front door slam shut and footsteps down the stairs. I buried my head in my knees…

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