Probably Rebecca’s ten-year-old son Mason.
Daniel smiled again.
Then stopped.
Where was Amelia?
She was usually the loudest person in the house during dinner.
Amelia narrated everything.
The dog chewing.
Noah breathing.
A cloud outside.
Her own chewing.
Laura used to say Amelia had spent the first years of life afraid nobody would hear her, so now she intended to make up for lost time.
Daniel stepped into the dining room.
Nobody noticed him immediately.
Margaret sat at the head of the table.
Rebecca and Greg were on one side.
Mason sat beside them.
Noah sat opposite.
There were six plates.
One empty chair.
Daniel looked at it.
Then at Noah.
His son saw him.
Noah’s face went white.
That was the first alarm.
Daniel smiled instinctively.
“Surprise.”
Everyone turned.
Rebecca gasped.
“Daniel!”
Margaret stood.
“What are you doing here?”
Not hello.
Not welcome home.
What are you doing here?
Daniel noticed.
He looked around.
“Negotiations ended early.”
Greg raised his glass.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
Margaret approached him quickly.
“You should have called.”
“I wanted to surprise the kids.”
Noah had not moved.
His hand rested flat on the table beside his phone.
Daniel looked at him.
“You okay?”
Noah swallowed.
“Yeah.”
Something was wrong.
Daniel knew his son.
At fifteen, Noah had become better at hiding emotion.
Not good.
Better.
Daniel looked toward the empty chair again.
“Where’s Amelia?”
Margaret answered instantly.
“Outside.”
Daniel frowned.
“It’s forty degrees.”
“She wanted to play.”
“At dinner?”
Margaret smiled too brightly.
“You know Amelia.”
Daniel did know Amelia.
Amelia would choose spaghetti over outside activity during an earthquake.
“Where?”
Margaret stepped closer and reached for his coat.
“Go upstairs.”
“What?”
“You’ve been traveling all day.”
“I’m fine.”
“Take a shower. We’ll warm your plate.”
Daniel did not move.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“Where is my daughter?”
For one second, something passed between them.
Fear.
Then a small voice came from beyond the kitchen wall.
“Daddy?”
Daniel froze.
Nobody at the table breathed.
The voice came again.
“Daddy!”
Amelia.
Not outside.
Daniel turned.
Margaret reached for his arm.
“Daniel, wait—”
He moved around her.
Two steps through the kitchen doorway.
Then he stopped.
Amelia sat on the hardwood floor beside Sunny, their golden retriever.
Her little legs were folded beneath her.
Her pink checked shirt was wrinkled.
Two brown braids hung over her shoulders.
In front of her sat a green plastic tray.
A small bowl of spaghetti.
One piece of garlic bread.
A cup of water.
Beside it sat Sunny’s food bowl.
The dog lay close enough that his front paw touched Amelia’s knee.
Daniel stared.
Amelia stared back.
Then smiled.
Not a normal smile.