Daniella was in the kitchen, mashing some over-ripe bananas to make a homemade banana bread. She had her headphones on, music blasting as she danced around the kitchen, setting the oven to preheat, and pulling measuring cups out of the drawers. She was lost in her own thoughts, singing off key, and almost didn’t hear the knock on the front door. She frowned at the clock in the stove and went to the door.
She pulled it open to find Patti standing on the front step, her face blotchy and red, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. “Hey,” she gave Daniella a weak, watery smile.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Daniella stood back to let her friend in the door.
Patti scrubbed at her eyes. “Do you think it would be here if I crashed here for a few days?”
“Oh Patti... did your dad...?”
Patti
