“But—but our parents, Wren, I mean … how they brought us up with church on Sundays and good food on the table and taught us to share and be honest and work hard.” She searched her sister’s face. “Dad was a little distant, but Mom—Mom couldn’t have been gentler…”

Kate suddenly groaned. Flushed with sleep, hair sticking up on one side, she scrunched her face, raised her head, and squinted at the table gathering, all while voicing displeasure, a sound between a whine and a cry.

Sam smoothed her hair. “Boy, you wake up grumpy, don’t you?”

She dropped back to his chest hard, a head-butt, and shut her eyes again.

Aunt Wren stood quickly. “I’ll get you some milk, sweetie.”

Mom pulled her anxious frown away from her sister and smiled halfheartedly at Sam. “Evening naps are the worst. When Maggie was that age, I could never keep her awake when she wanted to sleep, especially if we were in the car. No matter what time it was, if we started driving somewhere, she’d pass out in seconds. And if it happened on the way to a restaurant, she’d spend the whole meal just like that. Miserable.” She turned a more genuine smile on Maggie. “Do you remember that, honey?”

“No.” Not the crankiness or the napping, either. Sleep. It was hard to believe she’d once slept so easily.

Maggie curled onto her side and peered out the window overlooking the woods. A paleness sifted through the trees. Moonlight or dawn? She had no idea what time it was. In the morning, Aunt Wren would go back to work in the studio, and Mom would drive home, though Maggie would see her and Dad at Thanksgiving, and her mother had promised to return again at Christmastime.

Maggie would miss Mom. But she needed a break from her. A break from reporting on how much she’d eaten or how long she’d slept or how she was feeling. Maggie would finally have time alone.

Well, not really alone, of course. There was the aunt. And Sam. That guy was always around and obviously not just because he was the studio assistant. Maggie suspected he’d show up even if he didn’t work for the aunt, on account of his dad’s friendship with Wren. Sam was clearly comfortable hanging out at Wren’s place, leaving his child in her care, sitting at her table, sharing food and conversation, listening to advice and criticism—at home here, regardless of whether or not the aunt was around.

This didn’t bother Maggie too much. Sam worried about Linnie. He worried about Kate. He did not worry about Maggie. In fact, he hardly seemed to notice her. He called her Megan and Mindy and, once, inexplicably, Lisa.

For six months, Maggie had been the object of interest, speculation, hatred, accusations, and jokes. She was grateful for Sam Blake’s lack of interest.

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