“I’ve never done this before,” he told them.
June blinked. “Bath?”
“Yes,” Mason said. “Bath.”
Joy still looked suspicious.
He found the mildest soap in the house, tested the water temperature three times, then helped them out of their dresses with painstaking gentleness. Both girls were too thin. Not skeletal, but light in a way that made his throat tighten.
Bath time began tense and ended in chaos.
Joy sat stiff-backed for the first five minutes, studying him like an investigator. June discovered splashing almost immediately and attacked the water with both hands, sending droplets across the mirror, the floor, and Mason’s shirt. He startled so hard that she froze, wide-eyed.
Then, to his own astonishment, he laughed.
The sound was rusty, deep, unfamiliar.
June stared at him for half a heartbeat and burst into delighted giggles. Joy tried not to smile. Failed. The bathroom filled with laughter so sudden and bright that Mason had to turn away under the pretense of reaching for a towel because his eyes had gone hot.
Afterward he wrapped them in oversized white towels and realized he had no children’s clothes in the house.
So he gave them two of his T-shirts.
On adult women the shirts would have looked casual. On June and Joy they became floor-length cotton gowns. June spun in circles immediately. Joy touched the hem and gave a solemn nod, as if acknowledging quality craftsmanship.
“For the record,” Mason said, “you both look ridiculous.”
June beamed. “Pretty ridiculous?”
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