Page 24 of Wrong Number, Right Gray Wolf

“Oh, no.” Posy stroked it and said she wouldn’t let the button be sad or lonely.

“What’s this?” She held a brown button in her palm. There was nothing special about the actual button, but it was pretty special to me.

“That was from my first coat when I was very little.”

Posy squeed. “I love it.” She pressed it against her cheek before picking up another. “Awww, this one is broken. What happened?”

I explained I found it in a pile of buttons in a secondhand shop. It was pink like Posy’s bedding and of no use to anyone. I’d wondered how long it had stayed there with customers ignoring it.

“The poor button was probably lonely.” Posy held it to the light.

“Not everything has to be perfect to be worth keeping.”

She got up and hugged me, saying she loved her present and was going to add to the collection.

“Who wants to help set the table?” Clyde glanced from me to his daughter.

“Me.” I held up my hand.

“Me too.” Posy put her hand in mine. “I’m glad you’re here, Stephen.”

12

CLYDE

As they set the table, I stirred the tomato soup, going very old school with lunch. We were having grilled cheese sandwiches cut into strips and soup. It was easy, quick, and had always been one of Posy’s favorites.

“She really likes the buttons.” It had been such a thoughtful gift.

“I’m glad. I wanted to do something that was nice, but not too nice and personal. You know?”

I stopped to face him fully.

“You’re doing great. You don’t need to worry about being perfect with Posy. She wants the people in her life to care about her, and you’re already there.”

He gave a nod and finished rinsing off his hands.

As I flipped the sandwiches and stirred the soup, I kept peeking over my shoulder at them, loving how they worked together, like they’d always been part of the same team. One doing the napkins while the other did spoons, neither getting under each other’s feet.

We’d agreed to go at Posy’s pace, and at the time, I’d assumed that meant we were going to slow down. But based on what I was seeing today, her pace was feeling faster than ours.

Stephen plated the sandwiches while I ladled out the soup, and Posy got the chips. It was so domestic. I loved it.

“Are your buttons having lunch too?” I teased as I set her bowl of soup in front of her.

“What if we get bored and we need a conversation starter?” Her teacher this year was big into “conversation starters” and explained that they were what big people called it when they had important things to discuss. That wasn’t at all what conversation starters were, but Posy had latched onto it and used it as an excuse for things like this often.

“But what if soup gets in there?” I countered.

And Stephen added, “Collectors always keep their treasures safe, even though we want to keep them real close.” Then he reached in his pocket and pulled out the button she gave him.

She beamed and then moved her buttons to the shelf where the cookbooks lived.

“Stephen and I are twinsies. We both collect buttons now.” She grabbed a piece of grilled cheese and dunked it in her soup.

I watched as she ate, babbling on about buttons, Stephen encouraging the conversation. It was nice like this—the three of us sharing a meal.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?”