Below that, a line for a portable crib, and then a note in the margin that said heavily.

Behind me, the dining room filled with the sound of Lucas pulling out chairs.

“Everything all right?” Chloe called, her voice bright.

“Your coat has a good lining,” I said.

“I’ll hang it in the hall closet.”

Lucas made his toast at nine, standing at his mother’s table with his glass raised and his tie loosened.

“To Mom,” he said.

“Who made all of this possible.