After a while, Annie spoke softly, her eyes closed. "Mr. Whitmore?"
"Yes, Annie."
"Do you remember the ballroom?"
"Yes. I remember it clearly."
"That was the first time I danced in a big room," she said sleepily. "But tonight was the first time I danced on a real stage."
Charles glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. "Yes," he said. "It was."
"Which one counts more?"
Charles thought for a mile before answering. "The one you actually worked for."
Annie seemed satisfied with that parameter and fell fast asleep a few minutes later.
When they reached their apartment building, Charles carried the sleeping child up the narrow stairs so she would not wake. Lena watched his movements carefully as he laid Annie gently down on her twin mattress and pulled the faded quilt over her shoulders. Children looked incredibly small when they slept, no matter how wide the stage had been a few hours prior.
They stepped quietly back into the kitchen, and Lena poured two glasses of water, setting one down on the table without asking if he preferred another option.
"She's changing," Lena said, leaning against the counter.
"Yes," Charles agreed, taking a glass. "She's growing up faster than I anticipated. That frequently happens when children discover something they genuinely love."