Paper cup. Seedling. On the windowsill. The words come out excited, and they make her skin crawl. His crazed intensity, in the falling light, makes her think he’s having another cerebral accident. Her pulse spikes and she struggles to her feet. Then she understands. He’s entertaining her, turning Things as They Are into something better. Telling her a story, in return for the years of stories she has read to him. Planted it. The chestnut. Our daughter.
