Chapter 21: The Same Table

Katie's POV

The first Sunday in November was cold and bright.

I parked Clark's sister's car at the curb in front of the Maple Street house and sat there with my hands on the wheel.

Down the block, around the corner, Clark stood with the old foreman and forty people in their church clothes.

The crew had brought their wives.

Some of them had brought their children, and the children had been told to be quiet and were not.

I could see none of them from the car.

I knew where they were anyway.

"Is it a game, Mommy?" Poppy asked from the back seat.

She had her yellow raincoat on over a party dress and a pink card in both hands.

"Something like that," I said.

I turned around and looked at her.

"Do you remember what to do with the card?"

"Give it to Grandma."

"In her hand."

"In her hand," Poppy said, with great dignity. "And say happy birthday, and don't scratch the bear."

I took her hand, and we went up the walk.

The front door was already open.

Constance had arranged for that.

The house smelled of roast chicken and floor polish.

I had lived in it for six years and it had never once smelled of anything I had cooked.

The dining room had been opened up with an extra leaf, and the table ran nearly to the window.

There were twenty-two chairs.

Every one was full.

I knew most of the faces.

Dean's cousins, a row of them, the same ones who had laughed.

Women from the church guild in their good cardigans.

A man from the bank, with a lanyard tucked into his pocket.

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