“He didn’t even cry when they left,” her sister pointed out. “Another man who doesn’t need me anymore. And now I’m being dramatic.”

“I feel like you’ve earned the right to it,” Maggie told her, adjusting the forest-green linen chair at the head of the table.

“Well, I feel like I owe you a thank-you and an apology,” Dayana said, setting out a platter of shrimp they’d picked up at the market. “I’ve been a bad sister to you, and making it up to you never translated to more than an item on my weekly to-do list.”

The efficiency of it made Maggie think of Dean, and she smiled.

“I’m serious. Look at my calendar.” Dayana handed her phone over. Maggie saw tasks scheduled between meetings and luncheons and playdates.

Check in with Maggie.

Send Maggie’s birthday card.

Ask Maggie about Thanksgiving plans.

“This looks like effort to me.”

As she held the phone, a call came through. The caller ID read DAD. Hastily, she handed the phone back.

Her sister glanced at it, hit ignore, and put the phone down. “You had no reason to feel obligated to take me in. And I am grateful that you were still willing to do it.”

“If you’re beating yourself up, then I’m going to have to start beating myself up for not making the effort at all. Let’s just leave it at you had no reason to come to me,” Maggie pointed out. “I wasn’t a last resort. You’ve got resources. You could have kicked Donald out or rented yourself a nice house with full-time help. But you came here because you wanted to. Now, as long as you can handle living in a construction zone, we can see what happens.”

She was “seeing what happened” in a lot of areas of her life.

“A clean slate,” Dayana said.

“A renovation.”

Her sister gave her a wry smile. “I didn’t want to share my father with you. It took me a long time before I started to understand that, to my mother, you represented a permanent reminder of the fact that she wasn’t enough for my dad. Our dad.”

“You know better than anyone that it had very little to do with her and everything to do with him,” Maggie pointed out. She added the cheese-and-olive tray to the table. She was getting pretty good at panic shopping for last-minute get-togethers.

Dayana’s mother was a beautiful, intimidating woman who didn’t hesitate to label someone an enemy. Maggie had been stamped with that title at age twelve.

“She needed us to be a unit bonded against you and your mother. I never bothered picking it apart until years later. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry for working against you and making sure you couldn’t develop a relationship with our dad.”