Her voice was light. Her face was open. She was already picturing herself there with the cousins, probably in one of the matching reunion shirts Lauren had bragged about ordering.
The room did something tiny and ugly.
Mom’s hand stopped over the sugar bowl. Lauren looked at her before she looked at me. Kevin suddenly got interested in wiping his daughter’s face. Michael was at the sink rinsing off a knife and missed the paws completely.
I answered before anyone else could.
“If they still have the touch tank open there, yes,” I said, smiling at Sophie.
She smiled back, relieved, and went right on eating.
But Mom didn’t smile. Lauren didn’t either. They had that tight, settled look people get when a decision has already been made somewhere without you.
That was the first moment my skin went cold.
A few minutes later, while Sophie was showing one of Lauren’s boys how to stack crackers into little towers, Mom stepped closer to me with the coffee pot still in her hand.
She didn’t lower her voice enough.
