Kaat had seen her father before, in public places — but every other time, she was trying to hide from him, ducking behind relatives or other children to avoid notice. This time, she watched more openly; he was ordering a drink at the bar, standing as if he was important. He never looked as put together as her uncle did, but neither had Mama. Maybe that was something her parents had in common.

Kaat looked, brought her tea to her lips. Surely he'd spot her. This lost some of the appeal of it, some of the mystique, if she had to go up to him.