First, and this is the big one: I’ve been going away more often. It happens when I’m stressed. What if I go away one day and I don’t come back? Lauren and Olivia would be alone. I need stronger pills. I’ll speak to the bug man. The beer is cold in my palm and hisses like a snake as I pull the tab. I take three dill pickles from the jar, slice them in half and top them with peanut butter. Crunchy. It’s the best snack and it goes really well with the beer, but I can’t enjoy it.

Second worry: noise. Our house is by the dead end; beyond, there’s only forest. And the house on the left has been empty since forever; the newspaper taped to the inside of the windows is yellow and curled. So I have relaxed my guard over the years. I let Lauren shout and sing. That needs thinking on. The Chihuahua lady heard her.

There is a black scatter of droppings under the kitchen table. That mouse is back. Lauren is still crying faintly but she’s getting quieter, which is good. The music is doing its work. Hopefully she’ll sleep for a while and then I can get her up for supper. I will make her favorite, hot dogs with spaghetti.

Third worry: how long will she like hot dogs and spaghetti? How long can I protect her? She needs watching all the time. Children are like a chain around your heart or neck, and they pull you in every direction. She’s growing up too fast; I know every parent says this, but it’s true.

Calm down, I tell myself. After all, Olivia learned to be happy with the situation in the end. When she was a kitten she would run for the door whenever I opened it. She could never have survived out there, but still she ran. Now she knows better. What we want isn’t always what’s best for us. If the cat can learn that, Lauren can, too. I hope.

The day draws to a close and after supper it’s time for Lauren to go.

“Bye, kitten,” I say.

“Bye, Dad,” she says.

“See you next week.”

“Yup.” She plays with the strap of her backpack. She doesn’t seem to care but I always hate this part. I have made it a rule not to show how upset I am. I put on the record again. The woman’s voice winds through the hot dusk.