Even as she said it, she was pulling on her coat. She kissed the boy, left lipstick on his cheek, walked hurriedly to her car. Emaline held Junior up so he could wave to his mother from the window, but Thelma Pearl never looked back. She turned the Studebaker around, got it started down the road, drove out of sight. Emaline thought then the boy would start crying for sure, but all he said was “May I have another cookie, please?” She had the impression that he was accustomed to being dumped with various people here and there. She spent the afternoon baking more cookies, chatting with him, trying to draw him out. The boy was well-spoken, but it was hard to get him to say more than three or four words at a time. By three o’clock he looked tired, so Emaline took him to the bedroom and said he could curl up for a nap. He slept for an hour and came out looking baffled and confused.

“Where’s Mama?”

“She went back to Denver, honey. You’re going to stay with us for a while. Your daddy will be home soon.”

“I want my mama.”

“Well, not just now, little man. You stay here with me and you can help me make some more cookies. Would you like that? I’ll roll out the dough and you can help me make the shapes.”

The boy nodded, but Emaline could see the tears in his eyes. She wanted to cry for him. She had been left at the orphanage when she was about the age he was now. She could still feel the hurt and confusion, wondering how it was a mother had to go away. The only thing she could do for him was to offer a great deal more tenderness than the nuns had ever given her.

The two of them were rolling dough together when Jake came home. He had his boots and coat off before he noticed the small figure seated at the kitchen table.

“Well, who is this little lad?”

“Who does he look like?”

“Gosh, I dunno. He looks like a kid. What’s your name, son?”

“It’s Junior.”

“Junior who?”

“Junior McCloskey, sir. Are you my daddy?”

“That’s your name? Junior McCloskey?”

“Yep.”

“That’s funny. That’s my name, McCloskey. Jake McCloskey.”

“That’s my real name too. Jake McCloskey.”

“Whoa! Now who goes around givin that handle to little fellas like you?”

“My mama.”

“And who is that?”

“Mama.”

Jake looked at Emaline. “Okay, what’s goin on here? Is this somebody playin a joke?”

“I don’t think so, Jake. It seems this is your son. I wouldn’t believe it myself, but all you have to do is look at him. He’s got your chin.”

Jake squatted on his heels to get a closer look at the boy.