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"That's a foot?"

I smile and nod. The baby pushes again under his hand. Carson doesn't move. For once, neither do I.

Lis comes out of the kitchen, takes one look at us, and lifts her phone. The shutter clicks before either of us can react. The baby rolls again under his hand. Carson looks toward Lis, then back at me. A second later, he pulls his hand away and starts gathering the empty boxes.

I click the red "End Meeting" button and close my laptop. My Zoom is over, and I need to get out of here.

I wonder if Carson's at Sabal Point. I could call him, or I could show up and find out.

Lis has bridge at the club, and one of the women picked her up earlier. I leave her a quick note and take the keys.

Carson's nowhere in sight when I get to Sabal Point, but Hildie's at the table by the window with a laundry basket in front of her. For once, she's not wearing the cardigan. It's the first time I've seen her bare arms in this place.

She's folding washcloths one at a time, smoothing each square flat before she sets it on the stack. Her hands know the shape of it even when nothing else lines up.

"Mind if I help?"

"Sit, sit."

I lower myself into the chair beside her, which takes a minute and a hand on the table. I pull a washcloth off the pile and fold it around the front of me, one arm working, the stomach in the way of everything. It comes out crooked. I set it down anyway.

"How's the baby?"

"There's two of them. A boy and a girl."

"Two." She smooths another square. "When are they coming?"

"In the next few weeks, probably."

"Two babies in August." She gets it right, and I sit there while she gets it right. She folds. "Are they hungry all the time? I remember feeling like no matter how much food I made, I always needed more. Kids eat more than you realize."

"You had a baby, Hildie? I didn't realize that."

"I had one." She squares the corners. "He came to me at eight years old and ate me out of house and home."

I fold another washcloth badly and smile at that. I like that she calls him hers.

We work through half the basket without talking. Down at the far end, an aide refills a water pitcher with her back to us. I watch her and fold another washcloth without looking, then set it on the stack.

"Carson's been around a lot," I say finally. "Do you like having him here?"

Hildie smooths a square flat. "I love having my Carson around."

"I can't believe he can be away from the ranch for an entire week."

"He's a hard worker."

I look over at her. "Yes, he is."

She gives me a look like I've said something stupid. "Boy doesn't know how to leave something alone once he decides it's his responsibility."

That could mean the babies. I'm pretty sure it does mean the babies. I pick up another washcloth.

"I like having him here, too." The words come out before I decide whether I want to admit them out loud. Hildie folds another square.

I wait for the usual Mackie response to show up unsolicited, almost compulsively. A joke, or an explanation, something that turns the sentence into less than what it is. But nothing comes.

"I think maybe I like it too much."