Helen looked at the children longer than was strictly necessary. Owen let her. “Felix has a thing he does,” Owen said, keeping his voice light. “When it rains, and there are worms on the pavement, he picks them up so they don’t get stepped on. He’s been doing it since he could walk. We’ve long since given up trying to talk him out of it.”
Helen made a sound that wasn’t a word. Her hand went to her mouth. Owen stopped. “What is it?” She shook her head slowly. Her eyes had gone bright. “Daniel,” she said. “He did exactly that. From the time he was four. We used to call him “Worm Boy.” I’d find them in his coat pockets.” Owen stared at her. Neither of them spoke.