The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat
He took a red grease pencil from his cup.
“She has two moving trucks booked, and her flight leaves Pittsburgh International at nine in the morning.”
Arthur leaned over the blotter, pressed the red wax to the paper, and circled December first on his desk calendar.
He capped the red pencil, laid it across the blotter, and told me to go home.
By seven the next morning, Sarah was sitting at my kitchen table with a grease-stained bakery bag between her elbows.
She tapped her phone three times against the oilcloth until the glass clicked.
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