“I’d like to call him Bitner,” she said, as though she’d contemplated it long and hard. “Bitner?” “I read it in one of your books.” She continued to gaze at our son, her cheeks reddening with her angst. She’d already anticipated my departure. “He’ll grow up to be wise like his father, and loyal like his kin.” “I love it. Bitner Bijarnarson.” I stepped forward, admiring the first boy born to us. I wondered if there’d be another. Netta.”
