"Hmph,"George said, his mouth full. He had never liked being interrupted while eating.
"I'll get it," I said, but he was right behind me as I went to the door.
A woman stood there—a young woman with dark hair wearing jeans and a blazer. She was smiling and holding a bouquet of lilies.
"Surprise!"she said, flinging out an arm as if to hug me.
I turned to George, questioning, wondering whether we knew this person.
"What's wrong, Anna?" he said. "Don't you recognize our daughter?"
Katie, our daughter—the one who had drowned when she was seven—now standing as an adult before me. I could see the resemblance in her face—traces of her childish features hidden beneath the surface. I was still searching for words when a car pulled up the driveway, a car that I recognized. My late father stepped out. He waved and strode up the steps to our door.
"You look shocked, Anna," Dad said. "Did you forget we were coming?"
I shook my head. I found myself thinking that there was so little food in the refrigerator, only some leftover pasta salad, half a bag of baby carrots, and skim milk.
"I have to go grocery shopping."
"We already took care of it," my daughter said. "There was a farmer's market on the way. It was too perfect to resist." The four of us went to the car and got paper bags filled with fruit, vegetables, and freshly wrapped beef. Inside, there was a cheerful rustling of paper and plastic as I moved food into the fridge, pears and scallions, grapes and bread, a fresh-baked pumpkin pie. Katie put a vase on the breakfast table for the lilies.
When I finally shut the fridge, I turned and saw Dad looking at the breakfast table. "Don't worry Dad," I said. "I'll make more."
