The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat

I didn’t answer her, because an apology didn’t put eleven years of birthdays back on the wall.

I pulled out a chair and sat down.

“Rebecca is taking Lily to California on December first,” I said.

“How many days do we have left?

Is it eleven or twelve?”

“Eleven,” Sarah said.

“Then we buy them,” I said.

“Tell her she can have the house money if she signs.”