It don't mean a thing, if it ain't got that zing.
You're fucked, man.
Do something.
He drove back to North Yarmouth. "I'm home!"
"Hi, Sweetums. What's the matter? Here." Jennifer thrust Emma into his arms. "Watch Emma for a while, will you? I'm glad you came home early; I've got some things to do at The Conservancy. Oh, good!" She did not wait for an answer. "Tell me later—bad day at work?"
"Nah," Oliver said. "Never mind. How's Precious?"
"Precious had a good nap. See you in a couple of hours."
"Down," Emma said. "Down."
"O.K.," Oliver said. "Down, it is." He put her on her hands and knees in the center of the living room rug. He heard the Volvo start and race down the driveway. Too fast, he thought—hard on the front end. Emma made a laughing sound as she crawled around in a small circle, the way Verdi used to chase his tail. She rolled over, sat up, and looked at him with delight.
"What a show off!" he said. "Very good crawl. Very good. Want to try the toddle? Try the walk?" He got to his knees and closed her hand in his fist. "Try walk?"