His sister Hannah arrived while we were standing there. She had driven in from across town, and she came through the door with the particular focused energy of a person who has been briefed on the way there and has already decided where she stands.
She hugged me first.
Then she looked at her brother. I handed her my phone with the video pulled up. She watched it once, then watched it again.
When it finished the second time, she looked at Brendon with an expression that was not anger exactly — it was something quieter and more final than anger.
“He told you he was scared,” she said. “And you heard him. You cannot look at this and tell yourself you didn’t hear him.”
Brendon’s shoulders dropped. “I thought he’d be fine. He’s always been fine.”
“Not always,” Hannah said. “That’s the whole point of the appointments.”
