He came down the steps at a dead run, green hood flying, and Daniel let the duffel slide off his shoulder onto the walk. He went to one knee in time to catch him. The boy hit like a sack of feed, all elbows and breath, and Daniel closed his arms around him and pressed his face into the hood. It smelled of laundry soap and outdoors and the faint syrupy sweetness of a kid who had eaten a popsicle that afternoon. He held on. He felt the small ribs, the heart going fast against his chest. He had pictured this a thousand times and none of the pictures had come close.
"Look at you! You got so big."
He held Owen out to look at him, then pulled him back in, because looking wasn't enough. Over the boy's shoulder he watched Claire come down the steps. She moved slowly, almost carefully. When she reached them she knelt on the walk too, put her arms around both of them, and kissed him. Her mouth was soft and tasted of salt. She was crying.
