That night, we checked into a hotel just steps from the convention center.
My daughter was sitting in the lobby, happily eating an ice cream cone, when a hoarse voice called from beyond the revolving door.
"Ann."
She whipped around.
Adrian stood on the other side of the glass. His hair was soaked, and his wrinkled shirt clung to his skin. He looked as though he had followed us all the way from the venue, with the old canvas bag full of flyers lying at his feet.
Ann froze for a moment, then instinctively shrank back.
Adrian pressed one palm against the glass and forced a brittle smile.
"It's Daddy."
The spoon slipped from Ann's fingers and clattered to the floor.
She turned and raced toward the elevator, crying out in panic.
"Papa Kent!"
Kent rushed over and swept her into his ar
