“That’s good. I’ll pick you up in a bit.” He kissed the top of her head, straightened, hesitated. To Maggie: “If Wren gets back, tell her…” His mouth closed, tightened. He briefly shut his eyes. “Tell her Linnie’s missing.”

“Want to make a sand castle with me?” Maggie asked, scanning the beach. With what? She didn’t have a cup out here, let alone a pail and shovel.

Kate ignored her and watched her father walk away. When the screen door slapped shut, the child slunk toward the house. She kicked the base of the porch stairs, as if the bottom step, specifically, were to blame for separating her from her father. Arms folded and head lowered, she lingered there, kicking the rickety wood, climbing the stairs, stopping at the closed door, trudging back down, a deliberating little person, until the studio wing’s back door slammed and the old pickup growled and shot out of the driveway. Then she ran after the truck, straight down Ash Drive.

“Oh shit.” Maggie, who’d thought she’d give the kid a few minutes to adjust to the notion of a strange babysitter (and, okay, give herself a few minutes, too), raced after the girl, calling breathlessly, “Kate! Hey, Kate! Want to see what I’ve got? I’ve got…” What did she have? What did she have? “Beach glass!”

She caught up with her on the side of the parkway. Kate was stomping in an eastward direction, her expression scared and pissed.

The road stretched empty and gray. A loose piece of macadam gouged one of Maggie’s bare feet. She winced and then arranged her features into what she hoped passed for cheerfulness. “Want to see my beach glass collection?”

Kate scowled.

Maggie reached down to collect the small hand, but the girl jerked away. “Please?” Maggie sighed. “I’m not sure where he’s going. But he said he’d be back in an hour.”

Silence. They continued walking. Finally, the child halted and released a frustrated sound that pitched into a sob.

She let Maggie take her hand and escort her back to Aunt Wren’s place. On the beach, she let Maggie situate her on a warm patch of sand. And when Maggie sat across from her, she let her talk. All these allowances: bitter, condescending.