“Do you think Jimmy Clifton’s going to get in trouble again today?” he said.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I hope they don’t kick him out.”

“Ooh,” he teased, nudging her with his hip. “That sounds like somebody I know likes Jimmy Clifton.”

“I do not!” she said. “I just think he’s funny.”

Methinks the lady doth protest too much, he thought, but he didn’t push Katie any further. She seemed genuinely worried that the boy would be kicked out.

John doubted that that would happen to Jimmy, being Senator Clifton’s son—but you never knew. Those nuns weren’t easily impressed. And they had about fifty other kids on a list waiting to take his spot.

“If he’s really funny,” John told her, “maybe Sister Louise will keep him around just for laughs.”

“He’s not that funny,” Katie said.

As John laughed, the yellow Holy Family Elementary bus rounded the far corner and made its way down the street.

He squatted next to her, pulled her close, and gave her a big hug.

“Daddy loves Katie.”

She threw her free arm around his neck. “Katie loves Daddy.”

He held her tight against him, cherishing the moment. In a few years she’d become self-conscious and find such public displays of affection too embarrassing for words. But for now, she was delighted to be hugged by her daddy.

He released her as the bus pulled to a halt at the curb. He let her run to the open door by herself. A few seconds later she was waving and smiling from one of the windows.

When the yellow bus and the red beret were out of sight, he headed back to the house.

Not a bad house, he thought as he approached it. A twenty-year-old brick federal in a neighborhood of colonials and other federals on small, wooded lots. A neighborhood that screamed Washington, D.C. Nana— Ma—tolerated it. Said the layout was out of date, with no flow for company. But when did he ever have company?