Add continuity dashboard and scene authoring workflow

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+\f0\fs24 The kitchen clock read 5:47 and Ella Hayes had been ready since five-fifteen.\par
+\par
+She stood at the sliding glass door that opened onto the back patio, watching the canal. The water was black and flat under a sky just beginning to lose its darkest shade, the stars above the mangroves fading one by one like lights being switched off in a distant building. The sailboat at the dock \u8212? Mr. Caruso's enormous white fifty-footer \u8212? shifted almost imperceptibly against its lines, and the soft knock of fiberglass against the piling was the only sound in the world. Ella had her golf shoes on already, had them on for the better part of an hour, and she could feel the cleats against the kitchen tile, a solid deliberate contact that made her feel ready in the way that the shoes of a surgeon or a soldier might make them feel ready.\par
+\par
+Her bag was in the garage, standing up against the wall beside her father's. She had checked it twice. Fourteen clubs, sixty-four golf balls because you never needed sixty-four but she liked having them there, two gloves with the left hand on top, four sharpened pencils, the yardage book she'd made herself for Coral Ridge Country Club with notations in her own small handwriting, a rain jacket rolled tight inside the side pocket even though the forecast called for nothing but clear skies and the low nineties by afternoon.\par
+\par
+Behind her at the kitchen table, her father turned a page of the newspaper.\par
+\par
+She did not look at him. Looking at him would require her to say something, and she had already said enough. She had cleared her breakfast plate, rinsed it, set it in the rack, and said, *Dad, we should go.* He had nodded without lifting his eyes from the sports section. She had gone to the garage to check the bags and come back and said, *Seriously, Dad, we should go.* He had said, *Ella, the first tee is at seven twenty-four. We have time.* And then he had reached for the coffee pot.\par
+\par
+The second cup. She had watched him pour it with the specific agony of someone watching a slow leak drain something precious away.\par
+\par
+She turned from the door. Her father sat with his long legs stretched under the table, ankles crossed, newspaper folded to a quarter of its size the way he always did. He was still in his golf shirt and shorts and his shoes were on, at least, which was something. His bag was in the garage too, already loaded, which she had checked along with her own. But he had that cup in his hand, that white ceramic mug her mother had brought back from Oahu six years ago, and he was in no hurry at all.\par
+\par
+Andrew Hayes was a large, unhurried man. In nearly every context Ella had observed him \u8212? at the airline, at family gatherings, on the golf course \u8212? he moved and spoke at a pace that suggested the world would wait for him. Usually Ella admired this about him. On the golf course it produced a steadiness she had tried for years to copy into her own game, that ability to stand over a four-foot putt with a two-shot lead or a two-shot deficit and feel more or less the same. Off the golf course, especially on Saturday mornings, it made her want to scream.\par
+\par
+*Bobby's going to beat us there,* she said.\par
+\par
+Her father looked up. He had a handsome, creased face, dark from the sun, and he looked at her with the mild amusement that she found simultaneously comforting and infuriating. *Bobby lives fifteen minutes closer than we do.*\par
+\par
+*That's my point.*\par
+\par
+*Ella.* He said her name the way he sometimes said it, with a slight downward inflection, the way you'd say *easy* to a horse. *We have an hour and thirty-seven minutes before we tee off. The drive is twenty minutes. You like to warm up for forty-five minutes. That leaves\u8212?*\par
+\par
+*I like to warm up for an hour.*\par
+\par
+He looked at her over the top of his reading glasses, which he'd recently started wearing and which she'd recently started resenting because they made him look settled. *Since when.*\par
+\par
+*Since this summer. I've been working on the range every morning this week and an hour is what I need.* She pulled out the chair across from him and sat down, not because she wanted to sit but because standing and looking at him while he sat made her feel like she was waiting to be seen by a doctor. *If we leave now we have exactly enough time.*\par
+\par
+He folded the newspaper and set it on the table and picked up the mug.\par
+\par
+She watched the mug.\par
+\par
+He drank.\par
+\par
+*Dad.*\par
+\par
+*It's hot.* He set the mug down. *I can't drink it fast when it's hot.*\par
+\par
+*Then you shouldn't have poured a second cup.*\par
+\par
+He smiled. It was not a chastened smile. It was the smile of a man who understood perfectly well that he was being unreasonable and had made his peace with that. Ella had seen the smile ten thousand times and it still got to her, the way an old joke can still be funny even after you know the punchline by heart.\par
+\par
+From upstairs came the faint sound of one of her sisters shifting in a bed, a creak of springs, then silence. The rest of the house was asleep. Her mother had gotten up before five to make breakfast \u8212? eggs and toast and sliced fruit, the same breakfast as every Saturday \u8212? and had gone back to bed with a kind and unhurried efficiency that reminded Ella, not for the first time, that her mother and father were profoundly well-matched in a way that had almost nothing to do with her. Her mother understood her father completely and found him largely sufficient. This was admirable. It was also no help to Ella at ten to six on a Saturday morning.\par
+\par
+She stood up again and went to the glass door again.\par
+\par
+The canal had taken on a thin pewter color. The stars were entirely gone now. Somewhere out on the water something jumped, a mullet probably, and there was a brief silvery splash and then the flatness again. Down the canal, in the direction of the Intracoastal, a heron stood on someone's dock with the motionless concentration of a professional. Ella felt a brief abstract kinship with it.\par
+\par
+She thought about the range. She thought about the sequence of the session \u8212? wedges first, short irons, then the middle irons, then the hybrids, then driver last, but not too many drivers because this course didn't ask for driver very often. She thought about the thing she'd been working on with her ball position, moving it back a half inch with the seven iron, the way it was cleaning up that occasional thin strike she'd been getting on courses with firm fairways. She wanted to hit at least thirty seven irons before they walked to the first tee.\par
+\par
+*You know,* her father said behind her, *when I was coming up, you hit six balls on the range and if the six balls went more or less where you were pointing you went and played.*\par
+\par
+*That's why I'm better than you.*\par
+\par
+A pause. She did not turn around.\par
+\par
+*That might be the most disrespectful thing you've ever said to me,* he said.\par
+\par
+*You know I'm right.*\par
+\par
+Another pause. Longer this time.\par
+\par
+*I'm going to finish my coffee,* he said.\par
+\par
+*Obviously.*\par
+\par
+But when she finally turned around she caught something in his expression before he recovered it, a flicker of something that was not amusement and not offense. Something closer to pride. He looked down at the mug and she looked at the side of his face for a moment, his jaw, the gray that had started at his temples in the last couple of years, and she felt the particular complicated love of a daughter who has been taught by her father to be difficult and precise and uncompromising and who is now deploying those qualities directly against him.\par
+\par
+*Five minutes,* he said.\par
+\par
+*Two.*\par
+\par
+*Ella.*\par
+\par
+*You've had two cups. There's nothing left in there worth saving.*\par
+\par
+He looked into the mug. He looked at her. He pushed his chair back with his foot and stood up, all six feet two inches of him, unhurried as ever, and carried the mug to the sink, rinsed it, set it down.\par
+\par
+*Get your bag,* he said.\par
+\par
+She was already through the door to the garage.\par
+\par
+The sky outside the garage door, when her father lifted it, was a deep and luminous blue-gray, the color the sky is for only a few minutes in the summer before the light begins its real work. The air smelled like water and cut grass from somewhere down the block. Ella slung her bag onto her shoulder and felt the weight of it settle and felt the cleats of her shoes on the driveway and felt the whole long useful day opening in front of her like a fairway.\par
+\par
+*Let's go,* she said, not unkindly, and she walked to the car.
+}