both of whom had stopped gathering their purses.
For the first time since I’d met her, Tiffany seemed unable to produce an immediate, polished explanation.
“Greg, this has gotten completely out of proportion.”
“Then explain it.”
She gave a nervous laugh.
“I was only making conversation.”
“By telling your friends my daughter was a neighborhood helper?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
She looked away.
And that was when all the little details from the past several months suddenly returned to me.
Maya quitting the soccer team she’d loved.
Falling asleep before finishing homework.
Kelly asking why she always seemed exhausted.
My mother mentioning how nervous Maya had become about leaving anything out of place.
The way Maya had immediately reached for the ice when one of Tiffany’s friends asked.
And most of all, the way she’d glanced toward my wife before putting down the scrub
