"I'm-I'm distracted," she stammered, squeezing his hand. "He's tiny. There are children. Plenty of them." "I see." The grimy window showed him a group of laughing, boisterous children jostling apples into a sack. Little girls with buns tied up in hair bows and suspenders round their waists, a boy with an overbite awash in freckles. Bill picked up the saw next to him, level it like it was a dagger. "Molly..?" "Mm?" "Don't do it. Don't." The handle felt good in his grip. She unfastened her popular fragrance and popped the cork. The aroma recalled him of glossy leaves warmed by the summer sun on the windowsill of his childhood room. "Smell this." The scent stung his nose and burned his eyes. "It tastes like fruit," he said, swallowing. "It tastes like ancient regret."