Chapter 3
The next morning, the kitchen smelled of coffee, but there were no blueberry pancakes on the table—only two rubbery fried eggs cooling on Lucy's untouched plate.
Daniel sat at the kitchen table, reading the morning paper while a glass of orange juice sat beside his cup.
When Lucy walked into the kitchen, he set it down.
"Good news, sweet pea," he said, tapping the empty chair beside him.
"Dad talked to the publisher this morning. I got everything squared away."
My hand froze on the damp dishtowel I was holding. I stopped wiping the counter and turned around.
"Squared away how, Daniel?"
He took a slow sip of his coffee, totally relaxed, as if he were telling us he'd fixed a squeaky door.
"Ava has already been announced as the author, and the first print run has started, so we can't just take it back," he said, turning his warm smile directly onto Lucy.
"But your name is going inside the front cover, Lucy. And Dad is going to help you publish a brand-new book next month! Isn't that great?"
Lucy stood still by the fridge.
One hand tightened around her backpack strap. The other slipped into her pocket and closed around her brass pencil sharpener.
She looked at her dad, then down at her shoes.
"So... Ava gets the trophy?" she asked, her voice tiny in the quiet kitchen. "And I get a new book?"
Daniel reached over and patted her head, the same way he patted the neighbor's dog.
"That's my girl," he said, giving her a quick wink. "See, Mara? Problem solved."
I twisted the towel in my hands until my knuckles turned white.
He wasn't solving a problem. He was handing our daughter a fake gold star to buy her silence.
Lucy swallowed hard. "Daddy, why can't Ava draw another book?"
Daniel's eyes narrowed. He didn't answer.
That was enough. I dropped the dishtowel onto the counter.
"Go upstairs and get your coat, Lucy."
Daniel looked up, his smile vanishing. "We're not finished here."
"We are," I said.
Lucy glanced between us, then hurried down the hallway toward the stairs.
I waited until I heard her footsteps on the second floor before I faced him across the kitchen table.
"Where are you taking her?" Daniel demanded.
"To see Mrs. Hart. She watched Lucy draw that fox every Tuesday since September."
Daniel's expression changed. "Leave her out of this."
"Oh, so what? Rebecca may need a publisher, Daniel," I said. "Then help Ava but don't make Lucy pay for it."
I turned toward the stairs. Upstairs, a drawer scraped open as Lucy searched for her coat.
Then I found Lucy sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling on one shoe.
"Mommy, are we still going to see Mrs. Hart?" she asked.
"Yes."
We walked downstairs together.
Daniel was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Then she slipped her hand into mine, and moved behind me.
“Lucy,” he said, holding out his hand. “Can we talk before you go?”
Her fingers tightened around mine.
She didn't move.