« Ready, Kimmie? »
Kimberly didn’t look up from the kitchen table.
« I have math. »
« You finished math. »
« I have reading. »
My 10-year-old daughter wouldn’t visit the grandpa she’d once begged to move into our house.
Her backpack was zipped shut beside her chair.
I picked up the battered green notebook from the coffee table. Its cover was softened at the corners from years of being carried through parks, fishing spots, and muddy trails.