The little girl saw Dad.
“Mr. Gus!”
Dad’s face changed.
I had watched my father smile thousands of times in my life, but usually his smiles were small things—brief movements at the corners of his mouth, as though joy embarrassed him.
This one was different.
He set down his bucket.
The child ran between the rows, scattering drops of dew from the bean leaves.
Dad crouched as far as his knees allowed and caught her against his chest.
“You’re late, Sophie.”
She leaned back indignantly.
“Mom said it was foggy.”
“I noticed.”
The woman approached, slightly breathless.
“Morning, Gus.”
“Morning, Elena.”
Then she noticed me.
Her expression shifted.
Dad stood.
“This is my daughter, Laura.”
Elena looked surprised.
“You’re Laura?”
I smiled uncertainly.
“That depends what he’s told you.”
For the first time, Dad looked almost uncomfortable.
Elena laughed.
“Only good things.”
That was suspicious in itself.
