"What is going on here?" I said, my voice carrying a sharpness that startled even me.
Both women turned toward me with identical expressions of shock, though for entirely different reasons — my mother's face shifting rapidly from irritation to a careful, practiced composure, Claire's face flooding with a complicated mixture of relief and mortification.
"David," my mother said, recovering quickly, "you're home early. What a surprise."
"I asked what's going on," I repeated, setting down my bag and crossing the foyer quickly to Claire's side, kneeling despite my own exhaustion to help her rise from the hard marble floor. "Claire, are you alright? Why are you on your knees washing my mother's feet at five in the morning?"
Claire's answer came out in a rush, months of accumulated exhaustion and fear apparently breaking through whatever careful composure she'd maintained during my absence. "She said it was tradition," Claire whispered. "That daughters-in-law in this family have always shown respect this way, that I needed to earn my place here properly before the baby comes. She's been making me do this every morning for the past three weeks, David. I didn't want to tell you over the phone, I didn't want you worrying while you were so far away and unable to do anything about it—"