He can’t keep his own roof from leaking. Kids with no father or mother grow up wrong. Remember I said that.
Michael laid the diapers on the counter. The cashier, who knew exactly how little money he had, did not ask if he wanted anything else. She just wrote the amount in the little notebook where she kept track of people trying to make it to Friday.
Michael thanked her and left without turning around. People who have never counted change for bread always have advice for the hungry.
That evening he sat at his kitchen table with the baby asleep in a laundry basket lined with clean towels. The faded blue blanket lay across the back of the chair, freshly washed and still damp at one corner. Michael had no crib. No nursery. No plan that would impress anyone with a desk.
But when the baby stirred, Michael reached down and laid one finger in that tiny palm. The baby gripped him.
