CHAPTER THIRTY
Maya yawned as she came down the stairs, barefoot and in her pajamas. She’d stayed in bed later than she normally would; she kept waking up the night before from terrible dreams about her father. She worried for him, and even had a powerful urge to send him a text to make sure he was all right, wherever he was. But she didn’t. She had told him that she would only contact him if necessary, and a text from her might make him worry needlessly when he had bigger problems to concern himself with.
She had been following the news as best she could about what was going on in Europe. Several outlets had used the term “terrorism,” despite the White House’s official position that they could not confirm that Barcelona was an attack. Maya was dubious about that; after all, her father h
