milk, and the pound of sliced ham. My hands pressed flat against my mouth for three seconds while the refrigerator motor hummed in the quiet room. Then I wiped down the counter with a damp cloth and set out three yellow plastic plates.
Kaylee came through the back door at seven thirty, her gym bag slung over one shoulder. Her face was flushed from two hours of drills, and her maroon hair tie was twisted tightly around her right wrist.
She set her bag by the basement door without a word and walked up the stairs to her bedroom.
I gave her ten minutes before I went up the narrow stairs and knocked softly on her bedroom door.
“Come in,” she said.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed, holding her maroon team warm-up jacket in her lap. The gold lettering across the back read Oelwein Volleyball.
“I
