“This is not rational.”
“No,” Mason said. “It’s not. It’s more important than rational.”
By the end of the meeting, nobody argued.
He visited June and Joy every day they would allow it. He brought picture books, stuffed animals, tiny sneakers, fruit, hair ties, crayons, a stuffed fox Joy named Pine and a stuffed rabbit June renamed three separate times in one afternoon. He learned that June liked blueberries but hated peas; that Joy disliked loud voices; that both girls fell asleep more easily if someone read in a calm voice instead of singing.
The staff at the temporary foster center began to look at him differently.
At first he was an unusual benefactor.
Then he was a fixture.
Then he was the man the girls ran to.
One afternoon, as he knelt to zip June’s jacket after an outdoor play session, she cupped his face in both hands and asked with devastating seriousness, “You come back tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“And the next day?”
“Yes.”
“The next day too?”
He smiled, though his throat had gone tight. “Yes, June.”
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