And it is exactly the thing that was so grotesquely absent from the man ten feet away, pacing by the vending machines, checking the time.

Liam did not sit with us.

He paced, over by the vending machines, a restless back-and-forth of his own that had nothing of comfort in it.

Every minute or two he pulled out his phone and looked at it, then looked up at the clock on the wall, then back at his phone, a little loop of checking that I watched out of the corner of my eye while I rocked our daughter.

I told myself he was anxious, that this was how his anxiety moved.