Thursday.”

“No Saturdays.”

“Okay.”

“No Tuesdays.”

“Fine.”

“No skipping lunch to buy glitter.”

I smiled.

“Absolutely no promises about glitter.”

He laughed.

The paper crown fell off his head.

The next Thursday, I went with him.

I left work early and met him outside the visitation center.

Julian stood beside his car in his tie holding a paper bag.

“What’s in there?”

“Apple juice.”

“For Theo?”

“The boxes have dinosaurs on them.”

“Of course.”

We walked toward the familiar brick building.

I hadn’t been inside for fourteen years.

My hands started shaking.

Julian noticed.

Of course he did.

“You okay?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

I looked at him.

“Every week?”

“Every week.”

Then he took my hand.

Inside, the room had changed slightly.

Different carpet.

Different paint.

Newer books.

But the plastic chairs were still lined beneath the big window facing the parking lot.

And in the chair closest to the