Daddy’s Home

This evening I walked into the house a little late—around 5:45 after first stopping at the library for four copies of To Kill a Mockingbird and then dropping my assistant Matt off at home to spare his wife, eight weeks with child, from having to drag their two little boys out into the cold to pick him up—and my four-year-old daughter Mary (who is a pixie) cried, “Daddy’s Home!” and ran—not into my arms—but back into the dining room where dinner was warm and ready to eat.