The cheap apartment air conditioner droned with its steady, heavy rattle against the window frame, drowning out the rumble of trucks on the highway.

I went into the room without switching on the overhead light.

Little Walter lay on his back in the wooden crib, his tiny fists curled up by his chin.

He had Spencer’s fair hair, but he had his grandfather’s wide forehead and his calm way of taking in a room.

I lifted the blue knit baby blanket off the back of the rocking chair.

The yarn was soft and a little worn along the top edge, where Walter had pressed it to his wool jacket six months before.