Inside her father’s den, Lane found her brother, Wes, reading a newspaper on the leather couch. Meagan’s son, Owen, was on the ground playing with the toy dinosaurs Noah had brought from home.

“Where’s everybody else?” Lane kissed Owen on the head. He was the spitting image of Wes, complete with thick, dark hair that curled at the top and boyish good looks.

“Dad’s in his office and Meagan’s giving Paige a bath.” Wes didn’t even look over his newspaper.

“Didn’t y’all just come from the community center?”

“Something about paint on a pinafore.” Wes shrugged.

“Well, lunch is ready.”

Wes grunted and she rolled her eyes. Her brother and Owen were probably the same age in maturity too.

“I smell fresh meat!” Lane’s father barged into the room from his adjoining office.

“Bear!” The little boys screamed and scrambled off the ground to get to their grandpa. With his arms open, he curled his hands up like claws and growled. The boys stopped short and ran screaming in the opposite direction. In two large steps, Bear swept them into his arms and began tickling them until ear-piercing hysteria ensued.

Lane loved seeing this part of her father. The child inside who readily emerged around his grandchildren. The side of him that wasn’t poised, serious, or controlling. A side absent to her when she was growing up.

“The food is getting cold,” Lane’s mother said, raising her voice to be heard over the kids. The laughing commotion ceased as though a drill sergeant had called his troops to attention.

Bear released the boys and saluted Lane’s mom. Noah and Owen did the same, which made all of them smile, even Lane. Maybe lunch wouldn’t be so bad after all.

“Lane.” The muscles in her neck tightened and her last thought instantly evaporated at the sound of her father’s voice.

Wes arched his eyebrows at Lane like when they were children and he knew she was going to get in trouble. “Come on, boys, let’s go get some lunch so we can have dessert.”

Lane turned to face her father as Wes prodded Noah and Owen into the dining room. Gone was the playfulness. She was now looking into the familiar hard lines of the father she had grown up with. He’d always been strict. Disciplined. And unapologetic about his ways. But part of her longed for her father to look at her the way he looked at her son—delighted—not the way he looked at her now.

“I’m sorry—”

“I don’t need apologies, Lane. I want compliance. Now that you are home, you and Noah are expected to attend all family events.” Her father’s stern gaze bore into her, making her feel small. “Your mother and sister worked hard on the community center and your absence was noticed.”