Hades and Zeus exchange a look over her head. “Fifteen minutes,” says Hades. She might not hear the worry in his voice, but I do.
“No.” Daisy crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him. Like father, like daughter. But unlike her father, she can’t keep her hands away from her face. They come up to cover her eyes, and her chin quivers. “I don’t want to go inside. I want to be outside.”
“Fifteen minutes and I’ll make sundaes,” Zeus says.
Daisy doesn’t uncover her eyes. Her shoulders are starting to bow. Artemis comes over to Zeus, who puts an arm around her and pulls her close. He kisses her hair. She whispers something in his ear, and he shakes his head. I’d bet any amount of money she wants to know if it’s her fault.
“We’ll all go in,” Zeus announces, and Daisy nods. Hades picks her up and swings her onto his back, his expression neutral. Painstakingly neutral. Painfully neutral. He used to carry her in his arms, but Daisy must be self-conscious about it now. His daughter hides her face in his shoulder.
They all come toward me. “Poseidon,” Zeus calls. “Get ready to eat an ice cream sundae.”
Hades follows behind him, and as he comes level with me on the beach, his eyes meet mine. Black as night. Black as pain. There’s a question there I can’t answer, and he can’t ask—not with Daisy here. The question is, who can be trusted to take care of her when she won’t let us do it anymore?
“She’ll be all right,” I tell him.
“Who will?” Daisy asks, her voice muffled in his shirt.
“All of us,” says Hades. “We’ll be just fine.”
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