Seated nearby, Belle Sawhill used a magazine as a lapboard on which she was trying to write a letter to her sister in Seattle. The letter was an attempt to clear her mind, but each word was forced. Finally she put pen and paper aside and let the magazine slip between her knees."I'm worried, Ben. I'm worried about the girls. I don't want them writing to Bobby anymore.""What's the harm?" Ben folded his paper in half. "We can't simply cut him out of our lives, pretend he doesn't exist.""That's exactly what I want to do. He's not your son. He's only your nephew."Ben stared quietly at the fire, tongues of flame leaping up as if to tell a story. "I'll do whatever you want," he said. "I worry too."The words subdued her, made her rethink her position without changing it. "Worst is the guilt I feel. After his mother died, when we had him with us, I should have done more for him. Spent more time with him." "How could you? You had two newborns on your hands.""I had help. I could've made time, but I had eyes only for my babies.
