“I watched her because she talked to Benji like he was something stuck to her shoe,” I said.

He rested his forehead against the cold windowpane.

“She apologized to me three times from the gas station.

She was crying so hard she could barely get the words out.”

“Did she say sorry to Benji?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

He watched a blue jay land on the wet wooden fence post by the garage.

“I’m his father,” he said, his shoulders stiffening under his denim shirt.