Chapter 63
He did not care, of course. It seemed the sort of thing a father ought to have known, however; he found himself surprised that he wished he had. Did Jeremiah know about first loves? About bedroom activities? About any precautions, oils, gentleness with bodies and hearts?
He did not know, and he did not know how he might even inquire. Standing beside unsympathetic scones, he had understood abruptly that he had not seen his son for months, other than in passing, in village streets: going about the business of the day under rain or sun.
He’d thought that his son had a good reputation—a gentle heart, they’d said, deserving of love—and he could not be proud, because he’d had no part in it at all; but he’d felt a small green stirring of a sprout like curiosity, beneath his breastbone.