Noah reached for the rattle with a joyful grunt, his fingers wrapping around the smooth handle.

Linda looked from Richard back to me, her lips pressing into a thin, pale line.

“He gets his afternoon formula at four fifteen,” I told Ethan, who was standing beside his father’s bench.

“I put two extra four-ounce cans in the front pocket of his diaper bag,” I added.

“I have a timer set on my phone for four fifteen,” Ethan said, taking out his phone to show me the screen.

Linda turned her back on us and walked slowly back up the porch steps without another word.