Chapter 4: Sunday Dinner

Randall called me back at six that evening, four hours after I texted him from the exam table.

"I'm sorry. I left my phone in the car," he said. "Jasper had a procedure. Is the baby all right?"

"The baby is fine. My blood pressure is high, and the doctor wants me careful."

"I'll be careful for both of us. I swear."

"You said you'd call within the hour."

"I know. I'll do better."

That was the first of my two terms, and he had broken it on the first day.

I didn't say so out loud, because I needed to get through the week.

The lab had promised forty-eight hours, and the result took a week.

It came on a Sunday, at dinner in his mother's house in Cary.

She held one every Sunday, with a long table and place cards.

That Sunday there were twelve of us: her sister, two cousins, a family friend from the board of Reeve Freight, and the rest of the usual faces.

Birdie sat beside me in her good green dress.

Randall came in late, straight from the hospital, and kissed my cheek.

His hand was cold.

"Tell me you ate something," he whispered.

"I ate. Sit down."

We had gotten as far as the roast when his phone buzzed against the tablecloth.

He glanced at it, and his thumb stopped moving.

"Randall?" said his mother from the head of the table.

"The result's in," he said quietly.

Everyone at the table looked at him.

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