"Okay." The nearest book is a collection of poems by Federico Garcia Lorca; he opens the book and reads a few random poems while Junior settles in Beth's arms and starts her dinner. The last poem he reads is one called Madrigal for the City of Santiago and he doesn't know where Santiago is or was, but it's a good poem and he focuses on the words and imagery as much as on Beth and her -- their -- daughter.

Rain falls on Santiago,
my sweet love.
White camellia of the air,
the veiled sun shines.

Rain falls on Santiago
in the dark of night.
Grasses of silver and dream
cover the vacant moon.

Look at the rain in the street,
lament of stone and of glass.
See on the languishing wind
shadow and ash of your ocean.

Shadow and ash of your ocean,
Santiago, far from the sun;
water of ancient morning
trembles in my heart.

When he looks up again, Beth Junior is sleeping and Beth... well, she's watching her, entranced. For a long silent space -- eight heartbeats, nine, ten -- he just watches them. It's strangely satisfying in a way he never expected to be satisfied.

Huh.

His eyes wrinkle into the vaguest hint of smile as he watches his two Beths.

"Let me know if you want me to put her to bed."