He ran a comb through his hair, noticing again that there seemed to be less of it now than there used to be. He hurriedly donned his sheriff’s uniform; next he took down his holster from the lockbox above the bedroom door and put that on as well. From the hallway, he heard Jonah rustling in his room. This time, Jonah looked up with puffy eyes as soon as Miles came in to check on him. He was still sitting in bed, his hair disheveled. He hadn’t been awake for more than a few minutes.

Miles smiled. “Good morning, champ.”

Jonah looked up from his bed, almost as if in slow motion. “Hey, Dad.”

“You ready for some breakfast?”

He stretched his arms out to the side, groaning slightly. “Can I have pancakes?”

“How about some waffles instead? We’re running a little late.”

Jonah bent over and grabbed his pants. Miles had laid them out the night before.

“You say that every morning.”

Miles shrugged. “You’re late every morning.”

“Then wake me up sooner.”

“I have a better idea-why don’t you go to sleep when I tell you to?”

“I’m not tired then. I’m only tired in the mornings.”

“Join the club.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Miles answered. He pointed to the bathroom. “Don’t forget to brush your hair after you get dressed.”

“I won’t,” Jonah said.

Most mornings followed the same routine. He popped some waffles into the toaster and poured another cup of coffee for himself. By the time Jonah had dressed himself and made it to the kitchen, his waffle was waiting on his plate, a glass of milk beside it. Miles had already spread the butter, but Jonah liked to add the syrup himself. Miles started in on his own waffle, and for a minute, neither of them said anything. Jonah still looked as if he were in his own little world, and though Miles needed to talk to him, he wanted him to at least seem coherent. After a few minutes of companionable silence, Miles finally cleared his throat.