Chapter 2

The girl pulled back just enough to look up at Mara, her small face bright with the particular joy of a child who has found exactly the person she wanted to find.

"Mom, Auntie June said there's cake with the little sugar flowers, and she said I could have two pieces because I was good at the ceremony, and I was good, I sat still the whole time, even when the man talked for forever—"

"Ivy." Mara's voice was soft, and she smoothed one braid back from the girl's face. "I know you were good. I saw you."

Ivy beamed. Then she noticed the man standing a few feet away, the woman in the green dress, the way they were both staring at her like she was a strange animal that had walked in off the beach.

"Who's that?" Ivy asked, pointing at Douglas without any of the social hesitation adults carry around.

Mara straightened up, keeping one hand on Ivy's shoulder. "Nobody important, sweetheart. Just someone I used to know."

The words landed like a slap. Douglas's face went through a series of small adjustments — surprise, then something tighter, then the beginnings of the same rehearsed confidence that had carried him across the ballroom.

"Ivy," he said, trying on a smile that didn't fit his face. "That's a nice name. How old are you, Ivy?"

Ivy looked up at him with the flat, unimpressed stare that only six-year-olds can produce. "Six," she said. "I'm in first grade. I can read chapter books."

"Six," Douglas repeated. The word came out slow, like he was testing its weight. His eyes moved from Ivy to Mara and back again, and Mara could see the arithmetic happening behind his face — the dates, the timeline, the careful counting of months.