He looked older. That was the first thing I thought, and it was a stupid thing to think. Of course he looked older. It had been eight years. His hair had gone gray at the temples, and he had lost weight, and there were deep lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. But it was him. The same crooked nose he broke playing pond hockey in high school. The same way of standing with his weight on one hip.
“Laura,” he said.
That was all. Just my name. Like he’d been expecting me for weeks.
I looked at Sam. Sam looked at the floor.
“Get your bag,” I said.
“Mom…”
“Get your bag, Sam. Now.”
“Laura, can we just…” Greg took a step toward me with one hand up, palm open, the way you’d approach a dog you weren’t sure about. “Please. Let me explain.”
