"Nothing," her father said. "Drive safe."
The Buick's door opened and closed with its soft, expensive-sounding thunk, a sound that had always seemed too nice for an old car. The engine turned over. Maeve heard it float away down the street. And then for a long time she heard nothing at all, only the moths and the crickets and, eventually, her father's weight coming off the truck and his steps on the gravel, and the side door, and the chink of keys hitting the bowl again, softer this time.
***
Nobody ate dinner. The groceries stayed in the bag on the counter until almost nine, when Maeve went down and put them away, because the milk would spoil and because putting things away was what she did. Her father was in the living room with the television off, sitting in his recliner in the dark. She could see the shape of him through the doorway. He didn't say anything when she passed, and neither did she.
She found a note in the bottom of the grocery bag, under a bag of apples, on the back of a receipt. It was in her grandmother's hand. It said: Proud of you. 8 a.m. Wear something nice, they take you more seriously. — B.
She folded it and put it in the pocket of her hoodie.
At eleven-thirty, there was a knock on her bedroom door. Not her father's knock, which was two hard raps and then the door already opening. This was three soft taps, close together, low down on the wood.
"What," Maeve said.
The door opened a few inches. Kenzie stood there in the hall light. She had finally taken off the uniform. She was wearing an old T-shirt of Maeve's from the middle school science olympiad, so big on her it hung to her knees, and her hair was down, crimped and wild from the elastic, and without the bow and the glitter and the tight pulled-back ponytail she looked about eight years old. Her face was blotchy. She had been crying, and had tried to wash it off, and hadn't quite.
"Can I come in?"
Maeve thought about saying no. She wanted to say no. She sat on her bed with her laptop open on her knees, the Lakeshore payment page loaded, and had been staring at it for an hour. The jar was on the floor of her closet behind her winter boots, with the closet door shut.
"Fine."
Kenzie came in and shut the door and stood against it. She didn't come any closer. She picked at a loose thread on the hem of the shirt.
"Is Grandma really mad at Dad?"
"Yes."