Jonathan sat on the front porch steps, tracing the lines in his right palm with his left forefinger. Heart line. Head line. Life line . . .
Martha came out of the house and sat down beside him. "How are you holding up?"
"It's past time I did this. I just hope he accepts it."
Martha placed a reassuring hand on his arm. "Everything will be fine."
A foreign sports car came up the driveway, parked, and two young men got out.
As Clark was mobbed by his mother and younger sister, Jonathan extended his hand to the other.
"Welcome home, son."