From the front door, a knock. Michael rises. “I’ll get it.”
Damn…
There are only so many options for who could be knocking at this hour.
Only one in fact.
“No, it’s alright,” I say, setting the frying pan to one side. “I will. You stay with Charlotte.”
His eyes meet mine and he gives a small nod, nudging his chair closer to Charlotte’s. Occupied with Cara, she doesn’t seem to have noticed the knock.
Heading down the hall, I work at quelling the unease in my gut which hovers somewhere in the hinterland of anticipation and anxiety.
I open the door and she’s there, my tall, dark daughter, Georgie. Chin lifted, eyeing me, “Hi, Dad. Can I come in?” As I hesitate, she says, “I promise I’ll behave. I won’t be rude to her.”
“Alright then.” Opening the door wide, I gesture her to the kitche
