Ms. Hamshaw – a stern woman with iron-colored hair pulled into a tight bun – barked directions at a class comprised of five- and six-years-olds. In time, she strode toward us.

“I’m sorry about being late,” I began. “London’s mom started work today and I couldn’t find her dance outfit.”

“I see,” Hamshaw interrupted, staring up at me. She said nothing else, simply telegraphed her disapproval before finally putting a hand on London’s back. “You may proceed onto the floor.”

London shuffled through the door and into the studio, her eyes downcast.

Hamshaw watched her proceed before turning her attention on me again. “Please don’t let it happen again. Late arrivals disrupt the class, and it’s already hard enough to keep my students focused.”

Stepping outside, I called my receptionist only to learn there were no messages, then spent the rest of the hour watching London and the other girls as they did their best to please Ms. Hamshaw, who seemed pretty much unpleasable. More than once, I saw London gnawing on her fingernails.

When class was over, London trailed a few steps behind as we made our way to the car, her shoulders curled inward. She said nothing at all until we pulled out of the parking lot.

“Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I have Lucky Charms when we get home?”

“That’s not dinner. That’s breakfast. And you know your mom doesn’t like you having sugary cereals.”

“Bodhi’s mom lets him have Lucky Charms as a snack sometimes. And I’m hungry. Please, Daddy?”

Please, Daddy spoken in that most plaintive of voices. As a father, how could I say no?

I hit the grocery store and grabbed the box of cereal, arriving home three minutes later than I otherwise would have.

I poured her a bowl, shot Vivian a text asking when she’d be home, and squeezed in some more work, feeling as though I’d been whipsawed since the moment I crawled out of bed. I must have lost track of time; when Vivian finally pulled in the drive, I noticed it was coming up on eight o’clock.

Eight?

London beat me to the door and I watched as Vivian scooped her up and kissed her before putting her back down.

“Sorry I’m late. There was an emergency at work.”

“I thought you were doing orientation.”

“I did. Pretty much all day. And then at four o’clock, we found out that a journalist from the Raleigh News & Observer is planning an alleged ‘exposé’ of one of Walter’s developments. All at once, we were in crisis mode. Including me.”

“Why you? It’s your first day?”

“That’s why they hired me,” she said. “And I have a lot of experience in crisis management. My boss in New York was always in trouble with the press. So anyway, we had to meet and come up with a plan and I had to touch base with Spannerman’s outside publicists. It was one thing after another. I hope you saved me some dinner. I’m starved. I don’t care what you made.”

Oops.

She must have seen the expression on my face because her shoulders dropped slightly. “You didn’t make dinner?”

“No. I got caught up with my work…”

“So London hasn’t eaten?”

“Dad let me have Lucky Charms,” my daughter volunteered with a smile.

“Lucky Charms?”

“It was just a snack,” I said, hearing the defensiveness in my tone.

But by then, Vivian was barely listening. “How about we see what we can scrounge up for dinner, okay? Something healthy.”

“Okay, Mommy.”

“How did dance class go?”

“We were late,” London answered, “and the teacher was really, really mad at Daddy.” Vivian’s face was tight, her displeasure as evident as Hamshaw’s had been.

“Other than the emergency, how was your first day at work?” I asked her later, when we were lying in bed. I could tell she was still aggravated with me.

“It was fine. Just meetings and getting acclimatized to the place.”

“And your lunch with Spannerman?”

“I think it went well,” she said. She didn’t add anything else.

“Do you feel like you can work for him?”

“I don’t think I’ll have any problems with him at all. Most of the executives have been there for years.”

Only if they’re females, I thought. “Let me know if he ever hits on you, okay?”

She sighed. “It’s just a job, Russ.”

I rose at dawn and crammed in a couple of hours of work on the computer before Vivian woke; in the kitchen, her conversation with me felt less personal than purpose driven. She handed me a grocery list and reminded me that London had a piano lesson; she also asked me to find out whether the piano teacher would be willing to work with London on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons or evenings, once school began. On her way out the door, she turned to face me.

“Could you please try to be more conscientious today when it comes to London? Get her to her activities on time and make sure she eats right? It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything I haven’t been doing for years.”

Her comment stung, but before I could respond, she was closing the door behind her.

London came padding down the steps a few minutes later and asked if she could have Lucky Charms for breakfast.

“Of course you can,” I said. Still replaying Vivian’s words, there was something definitely passive-aggressive in my ready agreement. “Do you want some chocolate milk, too?”