“I am buying it,” Ben said, looking up with a steady, quiet gaze. “I insisted on buying this house in Rosie’s name only, Cathy.”
I looked at the blue folder, wondering how much of the truth he was keeping in his coat pocket.
“But Arthur’s name is on the deed,” I said.
Ben turned his face toward the window, his jaw tightening.
“Your father handles the legal side,” he said.
“We just need to keep our heads down and do what is required.”
“And what is required, Ben?” I asked.
He did not answer, his fingers returning to the neat stack of papers.
“I have to match the ledger,” he said.
The air in the backyard was cool, smelling of wet earth and dry leaves.
Rosie was sitting on the low stone bench near the garden path, her feet propped on an upturned wooden crate.
Her ankles were swollen, stretching the white socks she wore with her canvas shoes.
“Cathy,” she called out, clapping her hands against her cheeks twice. “Look at the sky, the sky is so blue.”
“It is beautiful, Rosie,” I said, sitting beside her and gently rubbing her shoulder.
“We are going to name them,” Rosie said, her voice dropping to an excited whisper.
“The babies?” I asked.
“Yes,” Rosie said, repeating the last two words of her sentence. “The babies, the babies.”
“What names do you like?” I asked.
