My parents left at four in the afternoon, and I walked them to the pack house entrance and stood in the doorway while Lydia organized their coats with the efficient care she brought to practical things, and my father turned to me before they went down the steps and looked at me for a moment with the expression he had been wearing in smaller versions throughout the visit, the careful open expression of a man who was still building something but was further along in the building than he had been that morning.“Next time,” he said, “you do not need to introduce us to everyone. We can find our own way around a little.”I looked at him and the thing his words contained reached me in the place it was intended to reach. “Next time,” I said.He nodded once and went down the steps, and Lydia squeezed my hand at the door and followed him, and I stood and watched the car until it had turned through the pack house gates and was gone, and then I went back inside and down the corridor to the sittin
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