He heaved a great sigh. “Wasn’t it great, mom?” he burbled for perhaps the fifteenth time. “Do we really have to wait a whole year for the next time?” “’Fraid so,” Claire said, ruffling his shock of blond hair. “Mom?” “Umm?” Claire mumbled as she straightened up. “Are you gonna keep him?” “Keep him?” The words choked out past a sudden lump in her throat. “You know,” Jamie said in his most long-suffering tone. “Brad. Are you going to keep him?” Claire sucked in her breath. How to tell a small hopeful child that things didn’t always work out the way they might like? No need. Jamie already knew that. “Do you . . . I guess you’d like me to, right?” “O’course. He’s my friend.” Jamie had no doubts at all. Nice to be Jamie. “He–uh–might not want to be kept,” Claire temporized. “Sure he does. He likes us.” If only she could share Jamie’s confidence. “Remember when grampa taught you to fish?” she said slowly. “You have to reel a fish in before you can find out if he’s a keeper.
