He had looked at the situation with those calm dark eyes that were his mother’s, concluded that the honest word for what I was to him was sir, and then said it, kindly, and handed me a glass of water — and the kindness was the sharpest part of the whole thing.

I had come expecting a rage I could apologize my way through.

Instead I got a courtesy I could not argue with, because there was nothing to argue against.

He was right.

I had made myself a sir, one signature at a time.

“Mom,” Hugo said, turning to Coraline, “Atticus and I are going to the library to finish our grant proposals.

All right?” “Of course, honey,” she smiled.