That evening, it finally did.
“Can I do Dad’s job?”
I blinked at him.
“What job?”
Nathan frowned as if I were making something very simple unnecessarily complicated.
“At the wedding,” he explained. “Walking you down the middle part.”
The aisle.
My heart seemed to stop.
Dad had been gone for eleven months.
Nathan was thirty-one, six years older than me, and had Down syndrome. But if you asked anyone in our family who had been closest to our father, nobody would have hesitated.
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