The bundle against his chest shifted, and he tightened his arm around it instinctively, protectively, the way I hadn’t seen him hold anything in years. “You’re scaring her,” he said again, quieter now, an apology and a warning in the same breath.
“Her?”
He peeled back one corner of the blanket. A tiny gray face blinked out at me, two furious black eyes taking in the porch light like it had personally wronged them.
I just stood there in my nightgown, barefoot on the cold concrete step, staring.
“What is that?”
“A kitten,” Greg said, as if this were the least surprising sentence he had spoken all night.
“I can see it’s a kitten, Greg.”
The kitten let out a squeak so small it barely counted as sound, and Greg’s whole body bent toward it before he could stop himself. “It’s okay, Susan,” he murmured.
