stuck with Jack more for Danny's sake than she would admit in her
waking hours； but now； sleeping lightly； she could admit it： Danny had been
Jack's for the asking； almost from the first。 Just as she had been her father's；
almost from the first。 She couldn't remember Danny ever spitting a bottle back
on Jack's shirt。 Jack could get him to eat after she had given up in disgust；
even when Danny was teething and it gave him visible pain to chew。 When Danny
had a stomachache； she would rock him for an hour before he began to quiet； Jack
had only to pick him up； walk twice around the room with him； and Danny would be
asleep on lack's shoulder； his thumb securely corked in his mouth。
He hadn't minded changing diapers； even those he called the special
deliveries。 He sat with Danny for hours on end； bouncing him on his lap； playing
finger games with him； making faces at him while Danny poked at his nose and
then collapsed with the giggles。 He made formulas and administered them
faultlessly； getting up every last burp afterward。 He would take Danny with him
in the car to get the paper or a bottle of milk or nails at the hardware store
even when their son was still an infant。 He had taken Danny to a Stovington…
Keene soccer match when Danny was only six months old； and Danny had sat
motionlessly on his father's lap through the whole game； wrapped in a blanket； a
small Stovington pennant clutched in one chubby fist。
He loved his mother but he was his father's boy。
And hadn't she felt； time and time again； her son's wordless opposition to the
whole idea of divorce？ She would be thinking about it in the kitchen； turning it
over in