PART 3   I stared at the hospital bracelet in the lunchbox until the letters of my own name blurred.

“And that’s Grandma Grace?”

“Yes.”

“She looks happy.”

“She was.”

“Why do you look so tiny?”

I smiled.

“Because everyone starts tiny.”

Clara rested her head on my shoulder.

“Did he love you?”

I looked at Walter’s young face in the photograph.

Then at my mother’s handwriting framed beneath it.

Walter held her for eight minutes. He cried for seven.

“Yes,” I said continue reading …