For four months, Luke and I met at the agency, then at libraries, diners, parks, and supervised outings.
I kept waiting for the difficult teenager everyone had warned me about.
He never appeared.
Luke was guarded, but kind. He had a dry sense of humor and remembered everything I told him.
Once, I mentioned that Grace used to hate raisins.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
Three weeks later, Luke pushed a cookie across a café table.
“Don’t worry. I checked. No raisins.”
I stared at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
I had learned grief could make small kindnesses dangerous.
Eventually, we began talking about adoption.
“You’d really want that?” Luke asked.
“Yes.”
“Permanent?”
“Then we’d deal with whatever you messed up.”
