awkward.
One throw went too high.
Lucas missed it.
“Sorry,” his father said. “That one was my fault.”
“I should’ve caught it.”
“No. I threw it badly.”
I stood several yards away.
After a while, Lucas asked him something I couldn’t hear.
His father crouched beside him.
My body automatically moved one step forward.
Then I stopped.
Lucas looked at him.
The man answered.
I stayed where I was.
One afternoon did not suddenly make him part of our family.
The first week, he called once.
The next week, twice.
