The kitchen smelled of toast and fresh coffee at seven o’clock on Tuesday morning.

Evan put a plate of yellow scrambled eggs on the placemat in front of Lucy.

I took the heavy glass pitcher off the top shelf of the refrigerator and poured orange juice into three small glass tumblers.

Lucy swung her legs against the wooden rungs of her chair in a steady, easy rhythm.

She reached out and took a slice of buttered toast from the blue plate in the center of the table.

“Can we make blueberry muffins for school tomorrow, Mom?” she asked.