« Five. And he’ll need to leave by 7:30 p.m. again, so let’s eat by six. »
I paused halfway to the stairs.
« Seven-thirty again? »
« Avery. »
« I didn’t say anything. »
« You said it with your face. »
« What time is he coming? »
Downstairs, Chloe was setting the table with the good plates, the ones Mom only pulled out for company. My daughter had her grandmother’s cheekbones and her father’s stubborn chin, and lately, she’d been watching Richard like a cat watches a screen door.
« Cinderella’s coming to dinner, » Chloe announced, folding a napkin into something vaguely swan-shaped.
« Be nice. »
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