13
Timothy stood at the open door at the end of the train car, the baby fast asleep and secure in the carrier on his chest, his little head soft under Timothy's palm. It was hot outside with dry heat like an oven. Trees sprawled into the sky in distant fields. Reality was sinking in more and more these days. She wasn't coming back. What he had now was what he had. He had always known it in his head, but even now the rushing landscape pushed the knowledge a little deeper into his heart.
Women walked along the road beside the train, saris pulled halfway over their faces, each with one hand holding a large pot balanced on her head. They made it look effortless, they walked with a gentle sway.
He talked to his sleeping baby. "She had dark hair like yours. Really dark. And dark eyes like you
