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him.
    Garrett said, “Yeah, a senior,” with a slight curl of his lip.
    In social situations, Melissa always led the way. I turned to her and saw that despite the smile, her face had drained of blood. She was terrified to speak, to get to the matter at hand. I did my best to carry on, to maintain the slight edge I thought I’d gained by addressing Garrett.
    There was some small talk about the weather (cooling), the traffic on the way to our subdivision (light since it was the weekend). Moreland had a deep sonorous voice with a homey Southern accent. I tried to place it and guessed either Tennessee or North Carolina. He had a way of looking directly at us when he talked that had the effect of putting me at ease. Garrett said nothing. Melissa either.
    “The roads should be fine until the game to night,” I said. “Then it’ll be bumper-to-bumper on I-25 for a while.”
    Moreland smiled knowingly and nodded. “We’ve got season tickets. I haven’t missed the Broncos playing the Raiders in fifteen years. As far as I’m concerned, the Broncos can’t beat them by enough.” He looked at me empathetically, “Tell me you’re not a Raiders fan and I’ve just insulted you.”
    “I’m not a Raiders fan,” I said, wishing for a moment I was.
    “Well,” Moreland said, smiling, “we’ve certainly got thatin common. I’ve learned since I came out here to go to school at CU in Boulder how special the Broncos are to those of us who live here. The Broncos are our touchstone, our way of establishing a common bond and interest. Even people who don’t like football follow the Broncos, since a win means everyone will be in a fine mood to start the week and a loss means snarling drivers and grumpy ser vice in the stores.”
    With that, control of the situation ebbed away from me and flowed to John Moreland.
    I tried to take my cues from Melissa, but she wasn’t helping me. Instead, she observed both Moreland and Garrett closely. Mostly Garrett. No doubt she was seeing similarities in his features to Angelina, or perhaps she was trying to imagine him as father material. I noticed Garrett stealing looks at her as well when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. Long, predatory looks that took her in from her feet in sandals, up her bare legs, quickly over her hands in her lap to her breasts under the sleeveless white top and sweater. I tried hard not to let it bother me.
    “I think we should get to it,” I said, probably too abruptly.
Enough with the small talk
.
Enough with the staring at my wife.
    “Yes,” Moreland said, almost sadly.
    Even though no one really moved, it felt as if everyone’s gears shifted, and the room suddenly became sterile. Melissa sat up straighter, as did Moreland. Only Garrett, who continued to lounge on the couch with his arm thrown over the backrest, continued observing something on the ceiling when he wasn’t examining Melissa.
    “We understand,” I said, “you’ve contacted the adoption agency in regard to our daughter Angelina.”
    Moreland nodded.
    “According to Mrs. Perala at the agency, Garrett doesn’t want to sign the papers giving us full custody of Angelina.This came as an unbelievable shock to us. The agency said this was the first time this has ever happened to them. Of course, you can imagine this is something we never even thought possible, that someone could wait eighteen months, then step forward.”
    Garrett wouldn’t meet my eyes. He alternated between studying the ceiling light fixtures and flicking glances at my wife. Moreland was still, but I could tell by a rapid pulsing in his temple he was becoming agitated.
    “Mr. Moreland,” I said, “we love Angelina, and she loves us. We are the only parents she’s ever known. The birth mother selected us from several very deserving couples, and we’ve done everything we can to provide a loving house and family. Look around you. Melissa resigned from her job so she could stay home with the baby and provide full-time