“Miriam, you understand that Noah is the father,” I tell her.

The spoon stops. Without looking at me, she turns off the burner, sets down the spoon, and leans heavily against the stove. “I know. Mein Gott.” My God. “I know.”

“I spoke to the social worker a couple of hours ago. She’s still trying to find a permanent adoptive home for the baby. Since you and Willis are the child’s biological grandparents…” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence, so I let the words dangle.

Finally, she turns to me, her mouth open and quivering. Tears shimmer in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “I’d like to meet this girl. The mother.”

“I can’t reveal her identity. She’s a minor, so a meeting between you will be up to her and her father. But I’ll let them know.”

She nods, but I see her mind working through all the possibilities. “There is a chance Willis and I could adopt and raise Noah’s daughter? Is that what you’re telling me, Kate Burkholder?”

I nod. “It’ll probably have to go through the court system,” I tell her. “But I thought you’d want to know it’s an option.”

She glances past me; her eyes widen slightly. I glance over my shoulder to see Willis standing in the kitchen doorway a few feet away. Neither of us heard him approach. But I can tell by the look in his eyes he heard every word.

Without speaking, without making eye contact with me or his wife, he brushes past us and walks into the kitchen. For an instant, I think he’s going to keep going and walk right past us, through the mudroom and back outside. Instead, he stops at the table, sets his palms against it, leans heavily, and lowers his head.

Miriam’s eyes flick nervously to me, then to her husband. Grabbing the kitchen towel, she uses it to dry hands that are already perfectly dry. “Sitz dich anne un bleib e weil,” she says to her husband. Sit yourself down and stay a while.

Staring straight ahead, Willis pulls out a chair and sinks into it. “En kins-kind,” he whispers. A grandchild.

“You heard?” Miriam asks him.

“My hearing is just fine.” When he raises his head and looks at his wife, I see tears in his eyes. “It’s been a long time since we had a little one in this house. Not since Noah.”

“Well, I’m not so old that I can’t manage a baby,” Miriam huffs, but she’s crying, too. “A mother never forgets.”

“A father, too,” he whispers.

Realizing this is a private moment that I’m no longer a part of, I pull the social worker’s card from my pocket and place it on the table in front of Willis.

* * *

Back in the Explorer, I take a moment to calm my own emotions, trying in vain not to examine them too closely. In that instant, I’m keenly aware of my age. The passage of time. How easily the things we cherish can slip away. No matter how unflagging my denial of its existence, I know there is a silent clock ticking inside me. A clock that sets its own pace, one that cannot be sped up or slowed down or stopped.