Susan called Friday to say the new people on the next block had put in a swimming pool, and I listened to her for nine minutes and told her I had a baby to feed.

At the table that evening Ethan ate two pork chops and asked whether the hardware store on Route Nine was still hiring, and I said I’d heard it was, and he said he would go Monday.

I set my fork down.

“You’re staying, then.”

“I’m staying.” He pushed his plate an inch away, which was as much of a speech as he ever gives.

“Somebody has to teach her to read.”

Monday morning the sun came in at the same angle, and Ethan sat in his chair in his sweatpants with the cereal box open and the phone face down and his hair going in four directions.

“Pass the sugar, please.”

I passed it, poured my coffee, and stood a moment at the counter with my hands around the mug.

The house was finally ours, and it was wonderfully quiet.

I took a long, slow sip while the morning sun warmed my face.