He tried to read the next caption, but Jonah’s arm was obscuring it. As unobtrusively as possible, Liam reached for the newspaper.

Drought. War. Suicide bombers.

At around ten thirty or so, after she had settled Mr. C. in his office, Eunice would be coming to deliver his printed-out résumé. Liam hugged that thought to himself like a package that he was putting off unwrapping. He had something to look forward to, but he didn’t want to examine it too closely. He kept it tucked in the back of his consciousness for later.

Of course, eventually he would have to tell her that the résumé was unnecessary. By that time, though, they might know each other well enough to be getting together for other reasons. He wondered if she liked movies. Liam really enjoyed a good movie. He found it restful to watch people’s conversations without being expected to join in. But he always felt sort of lonesome if he didn’t have someone next to him to nudge in the ribs at the good parts.

Security checks at airports were becoming more and more onerous, he read.

Jonah said, “I’m hungry.”

Liam lowered his newspaper. “You want your carrot sticks?” he asked.

“I want something you have.”

This touched off a faint, nagging echo of annoyance in Liam’s mind. He reached back to retrieve a recollection of Xanthe from long, long ago, from her toddler days, always asking for something, always needing. But he forced himself to say, “Sure enough. Let’s see what I’ve got,” and he set aside his paper and stood up.

“Celery? Yogurt? Cheese?” he called from the kitchen.

“What kind of cheese?”

“Pepperjack.”

“Pepperjack’s too prickly.”

Liam sighed and closed the refrigerator door. “Raisins?” he asked. “Toast?”

“Raisins would be good.”

Liam scooped some raisins from the box and put them in a cereal bowl. An image came to him of Xanthe standing in her crib, clutching the bars in tight fat fists. Her hair was plastered to her scalp with sweat and her face was beet-red and streaming with tears, her mouth a cavernous black rectangle of misery. He set the bowl on the carpet in front of Jonah and said, “Here, little guy,” and Jonah tossed him a quick glance before he reached for a handful of raisins.

In Egypt, Joseph became Potiphar’s most trusted slave.

“So, Joseph was taken to Egypt, where he had to work very hard,” Liam said.

“Couldn’t he run back home?”

“I think it was too far to run.”

He wondered what a child was expected to learn from this story. Was there some sort of moral? He opened out his newspaper again. Concern was being voiced about missiles in North Korea. He thought that maybe, if Eunice happened to be free tonight, he could invite her out for a bite to eat. He could say it was a thank-you for her help with his résumé. What could be more natural? Still, he felt a little gut-twinge of nervousness. Even at his age, the whole rigmarole of dating seemed intimidating. Especially at his age.

He reminded himself that she was just an ordinary, rather plain young woman, but now her plainness seemed part of her charm. She was so innocent and guileless, so transparent. He remembered how she’d taken leave of him yesterday, after he’d walked her out to the parking lot. She had paused beside her car door and removed her glasses (just why, he couldn’t say; surely she needed glasses for driving?), and her face had suddenly seemed so vulnerable that he’d had to stifle an impulse to reach out and cup her head between his hands. “Bye-bye,” she’d told him, lifting her chin. Even that childish phrase, which he had always found slightly silly, struck him as appealing.

When the doorbell rang, he imagined for an instant that this might be Eunice now. But no, it was Louise, already walking in before he could get out of his chair. “Did you miss me?” she asked Jonah, swooping down on him.

Jonah stumbled to his feet for a hug. “I colored about a hundred pages,” he told her.

“Good for you! How was he?” she asked Liam.

“He was fine. Though I don’t hold out high hopes for an artistic career.”

“Dad!”

“What?”

She cut her eyes toward Jonah, who was busy cramming his crayons back in their box.

“Well, I fail to see what the problem is,” Liam told her. “No one’s talented at everything.”

“Honestly,” Louise said, and she dropped into the rocking chair.

Not a word about her doctor’s appointment. Should Liam ask? No, that might be seen as intrusive. Instead he said, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

Louise said, “No, thanks,” which may or may not have been significant. (Were pregnant women allowed to drink coffee this month?) She patted her skirt, and Jonah climbed onto her lap and wrapped his arms around her. “What else did you do?” she asked him.

“I ate raisins.”

“That’s nice.” She looked over his head at Liam. “Your wound seems a lot better. I very nearly can’t see it.”

“Yes, it’s pretty well healed,” he said. Involuntarily, he glanced down at his injured palm. It still had a curdled texture, but the skin was a normal color again.

Louise said, “And I assume you’ve gotten over that little obsession about your memory.”

“I wasn’t obsessed!” Liam said.

“You most certainly were. For a while there, everyone thought you’d gone nuts.”

“I just wanted to know what had happened, that’s all. You would too, if you woke up in a hospital without an inkling why you were there.”

She made a little shivering motion with her shoulders and said, “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Fine with me,” Liam said. “How’s Dougall?”

“He’s all right.”

“Plumbing business going okay?”

“Oh, yes.”

Liam liked Dougall well enough-there was nothing not to like-but it was hard to invent any more conversation about him. He was a genial, oversized man with a pathological interest in the workings of inanimate objects, and Liam had never understood why Louise had selected him for a husband. Sometimes he thought that she’d been born with a mental checklist of milestones that she’d sworn to get out of the way as soon as possible. Grow up, finish school, marry the first boy she dated, start a family… She had been in such a hurry, and for what? Here she sat, an intelligent young woman, with no more on her mind than organizing her church’s next bake sale.

Ah, well. Life was a matter of opinion, according to Marcus Aurelius.

“You haven’t asked about my doctor’s appointment,” Louise was saying. “Don’t you care why I went?”

Liam said, “Certainly I care.”

“You haven’t shown the slightest bit of interest.”

Oh, it was so tiring sometimes, this business of engaging with other human beings! Liam said, as delicately as possible, “I trust it was nothing life-threatening.”

“I’m pregnant again.”

“Congratulations.”

“Aren’t you happy for us?”

“Yes, I’m happy.”

“You don’t act it.”

Liam sat up straighter and gripped his knees. “I’m extremely happy,” he said. “I think it will be very nice for Jonah to have a sibling.” He glanced at Jonah, who was squatting on the floor to repack his knapsack. “Does he know?” he asked Louise.

Louise said, “Of course he knows. Don’t you, Jonah.”

“Huh?”

“You know about your new baby brother or sister, don’t you?”

Jonah said, “Mmhmm,” and zipped his knapsack shut. Louise raised her eyebrows meaningfully at Liam.

“When’s your due date?” Liam asked her.

“Early February.”

“February!”

People announced these things so far ahead nowadays, it made pregnancies seem to last a couple of years or more.

“If you come up with any good names for girls, let us know,” Louise told him. She rose and helped Jonah slip into his knapsack straps. “We’re having trouble agreeing on one. A boy is no problem; but any girl’s name I like, Dougall thinks it’s too froufrou.”

“What would it be for a boy?” Liam asked her.