The new year arrived quietly, as it had the habit of doing in our household by now, the transition from one year to the next marked less by the specific occasion and more by the particular quality of attention that January always brought, the annual, private accounting of what the previous twelve months had contained and what the next might require.Hope stayed up until midnight, as she had for several years now, and Eli lasted until ten before the particular, absolute quality of his sleep arrived and overrode his intentions. Killian carried him to bed with the practiced ease that had never entirely lost its tenderness, and returned to the back step where Kade and Hope and I were watching whatever fragments of fireworks were visible above the garden walls."Another year," Hope said, at midnight, with the specific, satisfied tone she used for the confirmation of logistical milestones."Another year," I agreed."A good one?" she asked, which was her annual question, directed at all thre
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