a cork coaster near her notebook.
“Thank you, Mom,” Kaylee said, without stopping her pen.
“Your stepfather has a lot on his mind with the fall harvest starting up,” I said, sitting down in the chair across from her. “He gets quiet and strange when he worries about farm expenses.”
Kaylee finished drawing a box around a genetic term, then capped her pen with a quiet plastic snap.
“It is fine, Mom,” she said. Her voice was steady, but her fingers reached down to touch the maroon hair tie on her wrist, pulling the thick elastic band tight against her skin. “I know how Travis gets about things being official.”
“It is not fine,” I said.
She looked up from her notebook. Her dark eyes were completely clear, showing no tears and no anger, just a quiet stillness that made my chest feel tight.
“Do you think Grandpa Duane could
