I almost laughed. “Yes. Daddy got a clapping dinner.”
“Did you get claps?”
I smoothed her hair back. “Not tonight.”
She yawned. “I clap for you.”
Then she patted her hands together weakly, eyes already closing.
That tiny, sleepy applause nearly broke me.
I stood beside her bed longer than necessary, listening to her breathing settle. Across the hall, Jason turned on the shower. A few minutes later, I heard him singing under his breath.
By the time I went downstairs, he had already left his shoes in the middle of the bedroom, his belt on the floor, and his dress shirt slung over the chair instead of the hamper. His phone buzzed on the nightstand again and again with congratulations. He emerged from the bathroom in sweatpants, hair damp, face relaxed in the steam of his own importance.
“You okay?” he asked, though the question held no concern. It was bait.
“I’m fine.”
He gave me a look that said he did not believe me and was pleased by that. “This is going to be good for us, Nora.”
“Maybe.”
“It’ll make things clearer.”
“Yes,” I said. “I think it will.”
He heard agreement.
I heard prophecy.