“How did he die?” Leo said.
“Heart problems,” I said. “People with Down syndrome have a higher risk for certain heart conditions. He was thirty-two.”
Leo was quiet.
“What was his name again?” Leo said.
“Daniel,” I said. “Danny.”
He looked at the photograph from the movie theater.
“Did he know?” Leo said. “When people made fun of him?”
“Sometimes,” I said. “Not always. He was better at some social cues than others. When he didn’t know, I was grateful he didn’t know. When he did know, I watched him handle it in a way I could never fully explain, just absorb it and keep going, keep being himself, and I was in awe of him for that even when I was too young to say so.”
“How come you never told me about him?” Leo said.
I sat with this question.
“I’ve been asking myself that for about forty minutes,” I said.
