gaze outside.
Mike stood at his workbench outside. Sawdust covered his hair; a hammer filled his hand. He hummed You Are My Sunshine off-key, as his father once had. Just as he had soothed a screaming newborn eighteen years before. TrackPregnancy
Luke pushed open the rear door.
“Dad!” he called. “Dinner’s ready!”
Mike looked up. He smiled reassuringly. The whole-face smile.
“Coming, buddy,” he said.
He put down the hammer and dusted off his jeans.
He crossed the yard toward his home and his son.
The boy who once gripped
