Meanwhile, my brother had no idea the house he was stripping apart no longer legally belonged to him.
I finally picked up the camcorder.
It was one of Dad’s old handheld Sonys, scratched near the battery pack. A sticky note on the side read:
“Watch alone first.”
My stomach tightened.
I found the power cord tangled beneath the workbench and plugged it into the wall. The tiny screen flickered twice before stabilizing.
Then Dad appeared.
He looked thinner than I remembered.
Cancer had hollowed out his cheeks by then, but his eyes were still sharp. Tank lay behind him on an old blanket, lifting his head every few seconds like he was making sure Dad was still there.
Dad cleared his throat.
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