“Hi.”
“Is it okay if I sit?”
I nodded toward the armchair. He sat on the edge of it, the same way Diane had sat on the ottoman three weeks before.
He didn’t take his eyes off her.
“She’s gotten bigger,” he said.
“Babies do that.”
“Her hair.” He almost smiled. “It’s even redder.”
“My mom says it’ll probably turn brown by the time she’s two. Like hers did.”
“I hope it doesn’t,” he said. “I hope she keeps it.”I didn’t say anything. We sat in silence for a while. The clock on the mantel ticked. Somewhere in the kitchen, my dad was making a lot of noise rearranging pots that didn’t need rearranging. Making sure we knew he was there.
“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
Ben looked down like he’d forgotten he was holding it. He held it out to me, then hesitated, then set it on the coffee table between us instead.
