When James’s other brother was killed in Vietnam, the government sent someone to inform the family. That was in 1967. His mother worked in a school cafeteria. I asked a million questions, and he was good about answering them. “Can I trust you?” he asked in the front seat of his car. “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I told him. He asked if we could be friends, and I said you shouldn’t ask things like that. It sounds too third-grade. If you’re meant to be friends with someone, you’ll be friends. There’s no need to talk about it. James asked a lot of questions a person shouldn’t ask.
