Klempner looks spaced-out, almost high. His eyes are dilated wide, staring between nothing and the micro-drama unfolding in the paddling pool.
Cara, mouth and eyes wide with delight, dashes to Klempner, tugging at his trouser leg. “Quack quacks, Gandy Kay.” She points with one hand, offering him a grubby clutch of squashed crumbs with the other. “Quack quacks!”
Moving like someone in a dream, Klempner hunkers down beside her with the bread, and, one arm laid on his granddaughter’s little shoulder, tosses bread into the water with her.
Another small armada of birds flies in, settling onto the water, then en masse, paddling with intent toward Cara. Face crumpling, she backs away uncertainly.
en masseKlempner says, “They can"t hurt you. They"re only ducks. And if they could hurt you, you
