Ford had offered to supervise Phoebe’s bath and bedtime, so instead of accusing him of avoiding the conversation they needed to have, she took advantage of his offer and decided to do her drinking and unwinding in a nice hot bath. She stripped, secured her hair with a clip, then stepped into the deep soaker tub filled with steaming water and lavender-scented bubbles. As she settled in and leaned back, the warmth of the scented water enveloped her. A sip of merlot, a long, drawn-out sigh and she closed her eyes, willing the stress of the day to slip away. The sound of Phoebe’s exuberant voice carried through the walls from the bathroom down the hall, and she smiled. She sang a silly song, followed by gales of little-girl laughter at whatever nonsense Ford contributed to the spectacle. The sounds didn’t disrupt her. In fact, they soothed her in an odd way. The sounds of family. She reached for her glass and took another sip of the blackberry wine. Her tattered, damaged family. Could they ever overcome the hurt, the devastation of the loss they’d each suffered?
