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I follow her finger until I spot their father beside one of the barbecue grills, turning burgers while chatting with another employee.
Bane.
For a heartbeat, I just stare. My brain refuses to make the picture fit.
I watch him from across the lawn, trying to fit this version of Bane beside the man I remember.
During the years I spent with Spencer, Bane was always close by, standing outside dressing rooms, waiting beside black SUVs, or watching every room Spencer walked into.
I never heard him mention a family, and Spencer certainly never talked about anyone else’s life unless it benefited him.
Wow. I never knew.
Then he looks up.
His eyes find mine, his expression warms into an easy smile, and he lifts the tongs in greeting as though finding me with his daughters is the most natural thing in the world.
“Dad!” Babs yells.
He says a few words to the man beside him, hands over the spatula and walks across the grass.
Bane reaches us, and seeing him in jeans with barbecue tongs instead of a tailored suit and briefcase throws me more than I’d like to admit.
He looks at the twins. “What are you up to?”
Biddy slips her hand into his. “We’ve been teaching Emma.”
His eyes meet mine. “Should I ask what you’ve learned?”
“She picked blue,” Babs announces.
A laugh escapes him as he crouches to retie the ribbon that’s slipped from Biddy’s ponytail. “I hope they behaved themselves.”
I swallow and smile, willing my pulse to settle. “They’re lovely.”
Biddy catches my sleeve and tugs. “Come on.”
“Where are we going now?”
“We need more flowers.”
“I thought we’d finished.”
Babs shakes her head as though I’ve missed the obvious. “Those were practice crowns. These are the real ones.”
She marches toward another patch of daisies, leaving Biddy and me to follow. Before long we’re wandering along the edge of the park, picking daisies and clover under Babs’s fiercely concentrated inspection.
She holds one up between two fingers. “This one’s wonky.”
“It looks perfectly fine to me.”
“It doesn’t to me.”
Biddy rescues the flower from her sister’s hand and slips it into her pocket. “I’ll keep it.”
“I think it’ll be very happy with you.”
She smiles, satisfied with the arrangement, but Babs has already moved on to judging the next daisy.
