“I guess what I’m trying to say is that I don’t really know you, Wiley, but I’d like to. Instead of listening to my husband tell me who you are, I thought I’d come and find out for myself. Do you suppose it’s too late for something like that?”
“It’s never too late,” I said, amazed at her painful honesty. “And I meant what I said. I would love for you to be part of Noah’s life.”
We watched Noah for a while in silence.
“He’s so fragile-looking,” she said quietly.
“He’s stronger than he looks.”
“He’s so small.”
“His growth might pick up,” I said.
We watched Noah once more. He was reading a graphic novel, his eyes scanning the pages, puzzling out words but relying on the pictures to convey the gist of the story.
“Why don’t I call him over?” I suggested.
“I don’t know what to say to him.”
“I’ll translate for you. Just say hello. It’s not that hard.”
She put a hand to her throat again as if to consider this.
Without waiting, I got up and fetched Noah.