The paper crawled out of the tray, warm to the touch and smelling of fresh ink, the black and white rendering of the beach photo looking slightly grainy but entirely clear.
Even without the color, the matching royal blue cotton t-shirts worn by Nathan, Aurora, and Ava were obvious, the dark fabric standing out against the pale sand of the dunes.
Nathan had bought those shirts three years ago during a weekend trip to a local sporting goods store, claiming they were a bulk discount purchase for his office retreat.
I folded the paper in half, then in half again, tucking it deep into the zippered pocket of my canvas tote bag.
The drive back to our suburban house in Shorewood took exactly twelve minutes, the silver minivan with the dented passenger door pulling into the asphalt driveway just after four o’clock.
The house was quiet when I entered, the only sound being the soft murmur of the television from the basement.
Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table, her fifteen-year-old shoulders hunched over a drawing pad where she was sketching a tree with charcoal.
