One hand on his suitcase.

The other wrapped around a woman in a white silk blouse, her red nails curled around his arm like she expected it to stay there.

“Marcus?” I whispered.

He stopped.

The woman looked at the stroller and gave a small, uneasy laugh.

“You didn’t tell me she’d bring all three.”

The remark sounded careless rather than informed.

She was looking at the babies as though she had encountered something she had not been prepared to understand.