Chapter Twenty-Two
Adalia pushed the Sunday night roast beef around on her plate, but didn’t spear it and pop it into her mouth. She and her father had made the gravy together, but she couldn’t recall much of the process. Seconds and minutes melded into one another, became a blur of wasted time.
“Adalia?”
“Pardon?” She snapped her attention off the plate and to her father’s face. “What’s wrong?”
“That’s exactly what I asked you, five times. Are you all right?”
“Not really,” she replied, dropping her fork. She massaged her eyes with the heels of her palms, but there weren’t tears to chase away. She was fresh out of tears. They’d been replaced by constant numbness.
“This isn’t about the bakery,” he observed, scratching at his chin. “I’ve seen you disappointed before, but not like this.
