"He's looking in the wrong end."
"He takes after his father," she replied. Louder: "Will, be careful with that, honey."
They rested on the church steps overlooking the piazza; their son was three long, purposeful strides away. "He's fine."
"It's an eight-hundred-dollar camera. Plus the lens—"
"I can take it from him if you want."
"No, just… I dunno, keep an eye on him."
"I was already doing that, babe."
The camera was eventually set carefully down and forgotten as the child took to running full-tilt at groups of pigeons. "Where to next?"
"Home?" She rested her head on his shoulder.
"The hotel already? It's only—"
He glanced at the list in his hand; it was a column of mostly crossed-off landmarks. "It is all starting to blend together," he allowed. "Should we tell him to stop chasing the pigeons?"
"It's not like he's going to catch one."