“The Tenth of December” by George Saunders. Here is the opening paragraph:
“The pale boy with unfortunate Prince Valiant bangs and cublike mannerisms hulked to the mudroom closet and requisitioned Dad’s white coat. Then requisitioned the boots he’d spray-painted white. Painting the pellet gun white had been a no. That was a gift from Aunt Chloe. Every time she came over he had to haul it out so she could make a big stink about the woodgrain.”
I love this story for many reasons, but especially for its profound empathy. It’s also one of the best stories I’ve ever read that explores what it means to die gracefully, and the struggle to hold onto valor and dignity in the face of mortality. In case it’s not already obvious, the light summer reading you’ve been looking for is RIGHT HERE.