stuck　with　Jack　more　for　Danny's　sake　than　she　would　admit　in　her

waking　hours；　but　now；　sleeping　lightly；　she　could　admit　it：　Danny　had　been

Jack's　for　the　asking；　almost　from　the　first。　Just　as　she　had　been　her　father's；

almost　from　the　first。　She　couldn't　remember　Danny　ever　spitting　a　bottle　back

on　Jack's　shirt。　Jack　could　get　him　to　eat　after　she　had　given　up　in　disgust；

even　when　Danny　was　teething　and　it　gave　him　visible　pain　to　chew。　When　Danny

had　a　stomachache；　she　would　rock　him　for　an　hour　before　he　began　to　quiet；　Jack

had　only　to　pick　him　up；　walk　twice　around　the　room　with　him；　and　Danny　would　be

asleep　on　lack's　shoulder；　his　thumb　securely　corked　in　his　mouth。

He　hadn't　minded　changing　diapers；　even　those　he　called　the　special

deliveries。　He　sat　with　Danny　for　hours　on　end；　bouncing　him　on　his　lap；　playing

finger　games　with　him；　making　faces　at　him　while　Danny　poked　at　his　nose　and

then　collapsed　with　the　giggles。　He　made　formulas　and　administered　them

faultlessly；　getting　up　every　last　burp　afterward。　He　would　take　Danny　with　him

in　the　car　to　get　the　paper　or　a　bottle　of　milk　or　nails　at　the　hardware　store

even　when　their　son　was　still　an　infant。　He　had　taken　Danny　to　a　Stovington…

Keene　soccer　match　when　Danny　was　only　six　months　old；　and　Danny　had　sat

motionlessly　on　his　father's　lap　through　the　whole　game；　wrapped　in　a　blanket；　a

small　Stovington　pennant　clutched　in　one　chubby　fist。

He　loved　his　mother　but　he　was　his　father's　boy。

And　hadn't　she　felt；　time　and　time　again；　her　son's　wordless　opposition　to　the

whole　idea　of　divorce？　She　would　be　thinking　about　it　in　the　kitchen；　turning　it

over　in