But she held herself straight, and her handshake was firm.
“Come in,” she said.
“He’s in the living room.
I told him a friend of his daddy’s was coming to visit.”
The living room was warm and a little cluttered in the way that children’s spaces always are — a basket of toy cars, a stack of picture books, a drawing taped to the wall that appeared to be either a dog or a very enthusiastic cloud.
Daniel was sitting on the rug with a set of wooden blocks, building something with great concentration.
He looked up when I walked in.
Mark’s eyes.
Mark’s exact eyes — the particular shade of grey-green, the slight downward tilt at the outer corners.
It hit me somewhere behind the sternum.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m Sarah.”
“I’m Daniel.” He held up the structure he’d been building.
