At 3:15, the Buick sat in the driveway with both empty car seats waiting beside the open trunk. Daniel carried one across the pavement while I stood at the kitchen window with the blue folder on my phone screen.
He set the seat down and checked the straps.
“These are tighter than they look,” he said.
“You have said that four times.”
“I am hoping the fifth time makes me an expert.”
I smiled despite myself.
He smiled back.
For a few seconds, we were only two people preparing for two babies.
Then he closed the trunk.
“I am going to ask Mom what she meant.”
I held up my phone.
The photograph showed the
folder cover and the first page.
“Take a picture of this too,” he said.
“I already did.”
“Good.”
He put his hands in his jacket pockets.
“She may have found some standard form online.”
“Maybe.”
“You do not think so.”
“I think the language is too specific.”
“Specific to what?”
I looked at the folder.
“I do not know yet.”
Daniel glanced toward the house.
“She kept saying Leo would need the family arrangement.”
I looked up.
“Leo?”
“She has mentioned him twice.”
“Only Leo?”
“Mostly.”
I waited.
Daniel’s expression changed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No. What did you just remember?”
“She asked whether the baby had to stay in the hospital with you.”
The question sat there.
“Did she ask that before or after she asked for the room number?”
