When Scott opens the door.
Hello, Kristina. Cool as sleet.
He gives me a noticeable up-
down-and-sideways, and if he’s
half as savvy as he thinks he is,
he has to know the score.
Regardless, he steps aside, lets
me in. Jake comes out of the
kitchen, carrying Hunter. How
long since I’ve seen him? Two
months—just after Christmas—
and he’s grown. Changed.
His hair falls in long dark waves,
almost to the bottom of his neck.
His coos and gurgles sound
suspiciously like words: M-m-m-a.
When he spots me, he smiles, and
beyond his lips are two little teeth.
I reach for him and he draws
back, seeking safety in Jake’s
arms. Anger flares, but only
briefly. After all, thanks to Mom,
he knows Jake better, trusts
Jake more than he trusts me.
Your mother had to run into Reno,
says Scott. Jake, why don’t you
put Hunter in his walker? I
follow them into the family room.
Comfortable in his baby bumper
car, Hunter rises up on his tiptoes.