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maybe do a cleanup?”
    Hector looked a little uncomfortable with the suggestion. The family worked for the Burketts exclusively. They paid his salary.
    “I’ll clear it with Judith first,” Maya said.
    “Then sure, I’d be happy to do it.”
    As Maya headed toward the house, her phone dinged. It was a text from Alexa.
    Soccer Day is Saturday. You coming?
    She had made her excuses not to stop by since the incident with Coach Phil last week. Much as she knew that he was wrong, Eddie’s accusation haunted her. She knew that he was being irrational with that “death follows you” gobbledygook. But perhaps a father had the right to be irrational when it came to his own children—for a short period of time, anyway.
    Years ago, when Daniel was born, Claire and Eddie had made Maya the guardian for first Daniel, then both their children, in the unlikely event that something happened to Claire and Eddie. But even back then, even back before Claire had a clue how wrong it would all go, she had pulled Maya aside and said, “If something happens to just me, Eddie won’t be able to cope.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “He’s a good man. But he’s not a strong man. You need to be there, no matter what.”
    She didn’t have to add “Promise me” or any of that. Claire knew. Maya knew. Maya took the responsibility and her sister’s concerns seriously, and while she might obey Eddie’s wants for a short period of time, even he knew that it wouldn’t be forever.
    She replied to the text: Dang, can’t. Work is crazy. See you soon? XO.
    As Maya continued her way to the back door, she flashed back to that day at Camp Arifjan in Kuwait. It had been noon on the base, 5:00 A.M. at home, when the call came in.
    “It’s me,” Joe said, his voice cracking. “I have some bad news.”
    Odd, she had thought in that brief lull before her world was destroyed, to be on the other end of the line, so to speak. These terrible calls had always gone the other way for her—the bad news emanating from the Middle East and traveling west toward the United States. Of course, she never made the calls herself. There was a protocol involved. A “death notification officer”—yes, there was such a thing—told the family in person. What a task. No one volunteered for it—they were “voluntold,” to use a military term. The death notification officer donned his dress blues, got in a car with a pastor, knocked on your door, had the death script memorized.
    “What is it?” she had asked Joe.
    Silence. The worst silence she had ever known.
    “Joe?”
    “It’s Claire,” he said, and Maya felt something inside her crumble to dust.
    She opened her back door. On the couch, Lily drew with a green crayon. She didn’t look up when her mother entered, but that was okay. Lily was the kind of kid who had amazing concentration. All of it right now was focused on the drawing. Isabella got up slowly, as though afraid to wake her, and crossed the room.
    “Thanks for staying late,” Maya said.
    “It’s no problem.”
    Lily looked up and smiled at them. They both smiled and waved back.
    “How was she today?”
    “A joy.” Isabella looked at Lily with a forlorn face. “She has no idea.”
    Isabella said this or something similar every day.
    “I’ll see you in the morning,” Maya said.
    “Yes, Mrs. Burkett.”
    Maya sat next to her daughter as she heard Hector’s truck pull away. She saw the pictures go by on the digital frame/nanny cam, always cognizant of the fact that everything she did was recorded. She checked it most days, just to make sure that Isabella wasn’t . . . well, what exactly? Whatever, the video was always pretty uneventful. Maya never watched herself playing with her own child. It felt strange. Then again, it felt strange just having a surveillance camera in the room, as though you had to behave differently because of it. Did the camera in part dictate Maya’s own interactions with Lily? Yeah, probably.
    “What