“I won’t, sir.”
My dad stepped aside.
Ben came into the living room. I was sitting on the couch with Evelyn in my arms. She was awake. She’d just finished eating, and she was in that milk-drunk, dreamy state, blinking slowly at the ceiling light.
Ben stopped in the middle of the room. He didn’t come any closer.
“Hi,” he said.
“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.”
