brother’s size. Angelo would watch over Uncle Junior from heaven so that their grandmother could finally stop making up excuses for the unspeakable patterns in his behavior. Gina’s bad French toast will be remembered as Angelo’s last breakfast, and people will preach as gospel the words He never learned how to pronounce. When the camera flashed a second time, Tony became convinced that Angelo would die soon. But how? A car would run Him over perhaps. Maybe He would succumb to an incurable disease. An image flitted across Tony’s mind of Angelo burning up with dengue fever, bleeding from the nose. Or maybe He would be killed in a housefire, one that Angelo Himself would start accidentally. Another flash. Tony, who remained unsmiling in the middle of all the laughter, turned to face Angelo and stood in front of Him in the shape of the letter T, contemplating the different ways his older brother could die. “You’re one of the thieves,” Uncle Junior told him teasingly. Tony couldn’t decide if he wanted to be the one who was good or the one who was bad. 25