INTERLUDE IV: THE REAL NINAPrickly. I think that’s the best word to describe my relationship with my sister, at least before Neil died. I’ve always kind of worn my heart on my sleeve, as the saying goes, even though I don’t mean to. She pretended she didn’t have a heart at all.
Nina was two when a farm truck lost its brakes and demolished my grandfather’s refurbished 1953 Studebaker. The truck driver died. So did my grandfather and both my parents, who were going with him to an antique car show. At two years old, maybe Nina couldn’t actually remember our folks a whole lot better than I could, but it seems likely she would have been more directly affected by their deaths. In any case, six-year-old Neil must have taken his inherited role as the eldest sibling very seriously, because the old
