14
The Waiting
Connor’s fingers tightened around mine. For a few seconds I didn’t reply — couldn’t reply. At last I took in a breath, then asked, “And how do you know it’s the right time…or even that I’m the person to do it?”
A short silence as my father folded his hands on the knee of his well-worn cargo pants. Clearly, he was waiting for the older man to speak. And how strange that I’d already started thinking of Andre Wilcox as my father, when I still couldn’t make myself admit to any kind of real relation to my grandmother.
The old man did reply eventually, bright black eyes fixed on my face. “Many years we’ve waited. It is no easy thing, to wait and watch, knowing the time will come eventually but also knowing we can do nothing to hasten its coming.”
“What time?” Connor asked. “W
