For once that silence was useful.

On the train home, Owen woke and looked directly at me, blinking solemnly as if he were trying to understand the passing buildings.

I tucked his blanket around him and resolved that no adult in his life would be allowed to confuse access with ownership.

PART 7

My mother brought a shoebox to our fourth meeting.

We had agreed to meet in a quiet public library room because crowded cafés made it difficult to speak about childhood without becoming spectacles for strangers.

She set the box on the table and waited until I indicated that I wanted to open it.