Two little faces were asleep.
***
Patricia had brought the triplets by twice that summer, and Mrs. Hunter had sat on the porch cooing over them while their mother rattled off names and birth weights like a proud drill sergeant.
***
“Noah? What in the world?!”
“It’s Daniel’s triplets.”
“Where is he?!”
“Gone.”
She looked at the note, looked at me, then pressed her hand flat against her chest.
“What in the world?!”
“Honey, you can’t raise three babies alone!”
“I know!”
“You don’t even know how to warm a bottle.”
I sighed.
My neighbor knelt beside me. I was thinking she was probably right when the smallest baby reached up, blind and searching, and her fist closed around my index finger. It was tiny, warm, and strong in a way that didn’t make any sense for a six-month-old.
