I lift the coffee cup to my lips without taking my eyes off her. She continues playing with the food on her plate. I don't know how many times she has cut the bacon. I don't know what else she needs to do to separate the eggs from the toast or how many times she'll poke the roast ham before lifting the fork and directing it to her mouth.
Four.
I've been counting. She's barely taken four bites of breakfast, with at least fifteen minutes between each one, and shows no intention of speeding up. In fact, it seems like she's increasing those minutes, because a moment ago I checked the time and fifteen had passed. Maybe it's already twenty, perhaps twenty-five. Either way, she keeps playing with the food without taking her eyes off the fork.
I look away and glance again at the garden that I c
