Clark returned home that evening with the same heavy attitude he’d been sporting that afternoon.
Oh, he was just as polite and respectful as always. His behavior reflected no annoyance or anger. Yet, I could feel that he was upset.
It was instinctual, as if I’d read his mind unintentionally.
The girls and I were watching a cartoon show on television, completely mesmerized by the cheesy songs that were sung every half-a-minute, when we heard the jangle of keys in the lock and the thump of an opening door.
“Daddy!” Brooke and Maya shot to their feet and threw themselves at their dad as he appeared in the doorway.
He caught them easily and ruffled their hair. “Hey, girls.”
I stood as well. When Clark glanced at me, I once again sensed his burdened mood. He hid it with such skill that I
