I walked in the back door, the blanket still clutched to my chest, barely noticing the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. When Dad's rumbling baritone broke through, my head snapped up and I hurried down the hall. No big surprise to hear his voice, but there was a tone to it that sounded almost happy.
Had something happened?
I'm sure I must have looked funny as I came to a halt just across the threshold, a child's blue blankie in my hands, the front of me covered in silver cat hair, mouth gaping as I stared at my father sitting casually crossed-legged and relaxed at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee half-way to his smiling lips.
"Syd?" The mug lowered, his blue eyes steady, locked on mine, no hint of the haunted look he'd worn just this morning in his gaze. "Are you okay, cupcake?"