Cassidy stood on the tall kitchen stool like a little statue—bare feet planted, knees locked. All around her, the house swelled with motion: the zip of bags, the clatter of drawers, voices that bumped into each other mid-sentence. Boots squeaked on the floor. A box dropped somewhere down the hall. The air buzzed like a beehive kicked too close to morning.
But on the counter in front of her, there was calm.