Three weeks after Night Twenty-Two, Hope learns to run.
Not toddle-run. Not the controlled-fall version she's been doing for months. Actually run. Arms pumping. Gerald at her heels. The full commitment of a small person who has decided that walking is insufficient for what she needs to accomplish.
She does it in the yard on a Tuesday morning. Just starts running. No announcement. No practice. Just decides and does it.
Damien is on the porch with coffee. He sees it first. He doesn't say anything. Just stands up slowly. Sets his coffee down on the railing beside the bolt mystery dish.
I come out in time to see Hope reach the far end of the yard, pivot, and run back. Toward us. Toward the porch. Gerald bounding alongside her with the joy of a dog who has been waiting for exactly this level of activity from his person.
