“Yes.”
“Much the same. He doesn’t change.”
“Is he still at the same old grind?”
She nodded. “But, Dante,” she said, “you look thinner and older.”
“That’s the heat and the rapid traveling. A day or two’s rest’ll put me right.”
She dropped her sewing into her lap and, pressing her cool hand against my forehead, drew me back against her. It was a mothering love-trick of hers that had lasted over from my childhood.
“What brought you home so suddenly, laddie?”
Her hand slipped to my shoulder. I bent aside and kissed it. “To see you and Ruthie. I had something to tell you.” She narrowed her eyes shrewdly. “You’ve been worried for nearly a year now. I’ve noticed it.”
“Have I shown it so plainly?”
“Plainly enough for me to notice. Is it something to do with a woman? But of course it is—at your age only a woman could make you wear a solemn face.”