“He said he would see me Monday at nine,” Ethan said.

“He didn’t argue.”

He lifted June off the changing table and held her against his shoulder, tapping her back in slow, rhythmic strokes until she gave a small, soft burp.

“I was thinking about next Thursday,” Ethan said, turning to look at me in the rocking chair.

“What about Thursday?”

“Your mother mentioned her back garden bed needs clearing before the ground freezes solid,” Ethan said.

“I can take two hours of PTO after her physical therapy session and pull out those dead hydrangea roots for her.”