Kathleen had occasionally lamented the fact that her daughter seemed not to have inherited even a sliver of her own adventurous spirit. When Liza was six years old, Kathleen had wondered if it was healthy for a child to be so biddable. She’d half hoped to see at least a tiny hint of rebellion in the teenage years, but Liza had remained steady and reliable, an adult before her time, vaguely reproachful of her mother’s slightly unconventional antics. She hadn’t died her hair pink, drunk herself into a stupor or, to the best of Kathleen’s knowledge, kissed an unsuitable boy. It seemed to her mother that Liza lived a life regrettably lacking in daring.

But there was no doubt that she was caring and selfless. More selfless than Kathleen had been.

Kathleen had told herself that by pursuing her own passions she was setting an example to her child but if anything her experiences had caused her daughter to become more careful not less.

And here she was causing her anxiety yet again.

Liza put her coffee down on the table. “You removed the bandage.”

“It was annoying me. And the wound will heal better exposed to the air.” Kathleen pressed her fingertips to her head. “They had to shave some of my hair. I look like something from a horror movie.”

Liza shook her head. “You look good. You always do.”

Kathleen felt guilty for wishing she could have had a few more moments alone with her coffee and the birds.

Her daughter had dropped everything to drive here through hideous Friday traffic. No mother could have a more attentive daughter.

“How are the girls doing?”

“I don’t know. It’s too early to call them. They never emerge until midmorning. It’s not the easiest age. I assume they’re alive, or I would have heard something.” Liza sat down opposite her mother and lifted her face to the sun. She was wearing navy linen trousers with a tailored white shirt, an outfit that would have taken her from the classroom to a parent-teacher conference. Her shoes had a small heel and her hair hung smooth and sleek to her shoulders. Everything about Liza was safe and controlled from her attitude to her dress to the way she lived her life.

“You worry too much about them. Things have a way of turning out fine if you leave them.”

“I prefer to take a more hands-on approach than you.” Liza colored. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

It was so unlike her careful daughter to be unguarded in her remarks that Kathleen took heart. There was spirit there, even if it was rarely permitted to see the light. If only she could encourage more of it.