Nothing smelled more like home than Sock Soup. And nothing else could lure him out better. He hadn't yet sunk into a bottle. He hadn't yet done more than sit and sulk in the room he shared with Stevie. And perhaps read.
In barefeet, cotton trousers, and a simple white tee, he peered around the door frame into the kitchen. Hair mussed and untamed. "Teaching Peggy how to make Sock Soup?" He asked, just leaning against the opening. His voice gruff from lack of use.