Kate pulled some socks and T-shirts out of the basket and went over to the dresser. Her eye fell on a photograph in a silver frame, the only item on the dresser’s surface aside from a small carved statue of the Buddha. Gripped by curiosity, she peered more closely at the picture, immediately recognizing Peter, who looked about ten years younger. He was smiling, his cheek pressed against a young woman’s. She, too, was smiling, her blond hair blowing in the wind.
“That’s Tori.”
Kate jumped at the sound of Peter’s voice. She gripped his things to her chest and turned around, expecting him to be angry. But his eyes looked sad, and she felt as if she’d horribly invaded his privacy. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Marcy asked me to put these things away. I ... just noticed.”
A gentle smile tugged
