“Obviously.”
“And the hotel chair?”
Toby’s eyes narrowed.
“What hotel chair?”
I’d assumed he simply enjoyed helping.
“You ask Dad almost every trip if his hotel room has a chair.”
“Oh… that.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the bedroom doorway.
Then pointed downstairs.
“Dad sits in that chair.”
Julian’s brown recliner.
The one Travel Dad had occupied.
“You ask Dad almost every trip if his hotel room has a chair.”
I finally understood.
Toby wasn’t asking about furniture.
He was checking whether some version of home existed wherever Julian had gone.
My heart ached.
“Toby, are you scared when Dad travels?”
“No.”
I tried again.
“What do you hate when Dad travels?”
“Toby, are you scared when Dad travels?”
This time he thought about it.
“Dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“It’s too quiet here.”
“What else?”
“Bedtime.”
“Why bedtime?”
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