Carol doesn't say anything else. That's almost worse than if she had.
She sets her suitcase down slowly, deliberately, her eyes moving between me and Mia like she's cataloguing evidence for a case she hasn't decided yet whether to bring. Mia has gone completely rigid beside me, and I can feel the exact moment she stops breathing.
"Aunt Carol," I say, stepping back from Mia, too late, obviously, the gesture doing nothing except confirm there was distance that needed closing in the first place. "You're early."
"Traffic was light." Her voice is pleasant, conversational, which is somehow the most alarming register she could have chosen. "I'll just get settled, I think. Let you two—" her eyes flick between us again, unhurried, cataloguing, "—finish whatever this was."
She picks her suitcase
