Cole’s father, Greg, drove up from Madison and stayed three days, and now Cole spends alternating weekends with him, and every other Saturday morning with me.
We have a project.
It took us five Saturdays to fix the washing machine.
The grinding was a worn drum bearing, a forty-dollar part.
Molly supervised from the basement steps in her mother’s watch, with a notepad and a clipboard and no mercy.
Every Sunday, I make pancakes.
Every Sunday, before we eat, I put down my fork and say, “Tell me the whole thing. I’m listening.”
And every Sunday, for ten months, Molly asked me the same question first.
Sometime in the spring she stopped.
