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“I didn’t say a word,” Abby said.
There had been times in the past when De
“Good to be here,” De
It was possible he had made some sort of resolution on the train trip down, because he was so easygoing on that visit, so uncritical even with the orphans. When B. J. Autry gave one of her magpie laughs and startled the baby awake, all he said was, “Okay, folks, you can check out Susan’s eyes now.” And he was very considerate about Mr. Dale’s hearing problem, repeating one phrase several times over without a trace of impatience.
Amanda, who was seven months pregnant, pestered him with child-care questions, and he answered every one of them. (A crib was completely u
Abby fed the baby and burped her and changed her miniature diaper, which was the disposable kind, but Abby refrained from so much as mentioning the word “landfill.” It turned out that Susan had a chubby chin and beautifully sculptured lips and a frowning, slate-blue gaze. Abby passed her to Red, who made a big show of dismay and ineptness but later was caught pressing his nose to her downy head, drawing in a long deep breath of baby smell.
When De
Which he had said before, any number of times, and it hadn’t meant a thing. This time, though, was different. Maybe it was fatherhood. Maybe he was begi
The whole family agreed later that the visit had gone well. And since De
Then De
De
“But Carla does?”
“Right.”
“Well, I don’t get that. Carla’s the mom, right?”
“So?”
Two other people were present — Abby and Jea
“Is that any of your business?” De
Then Red shut up, although clearly it cost him some effort, and it seemed that was the end of it. But when Abby asked for help hauling out the Portacrib, De
Three years passed before they heard from him again.
For the first several months, they did nothing. That was how deferential they were, how cowed by De
Red merely nodded and wandered off to another room.
More months passed. Years passed. Susan must be walking, then talking. That mesmerizing stage when language develops exponentially from one day to the next, when children are little sponges for language: the Whitshanks missed every bit of it. At this point they had two other grandchildren — Jea
Then 9/11 came along, and Abby just about lost her mind with worry. Well, the whole family felt some concern, of course. But as far as they knew, De
“Who?” Red asked.
“Carla’s mother. What was her last name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to know,” Abby said. “Think.”
“I don’t believe we ever heard her last name, hon.”
Abby started pacing. They were in their bedroom, and she was treading her usual path up and down the Persian ru
“Not if I know De