Just beyond her, Tiffany sat comfortably on the sofa with three other women.
There were wineglasses on the coffee table.
A plate of crackers.
Several books.
From the arrangement, it appeared they were hosting their monthly book club.
Although judging by the conversation, very little reading was happening.
“Sweetheart, could you bring us some more ice?” one woman asked casually.
Maya immediately began setting down her brush.
She moved with the automatic obedience of someone who had been given the same sort of request many times before.
Before she could stand, she noticed me.
Her face brightened.
“Dad! You’re back!”
I smiled, holding up the bakery box.
“Couldn’t stay away, sweetheart.”
Then she gestured toward the tiles.
“Be careful. The floor’s wet. I’m almost finished.”
I stepped around the damp section.
“That’s okay, honey. You’ve done enough.”
She didn’t move.
Instead, her eyes traveled past my shoulder.
Straight toward Tiffany.
