Chapter 23: Sunday Dinner

On Sunday at two, Bernie's kitchen table held a pot roast and four kinds of potatoes.

Thane sat in front of them and could not say no to a second plate.

"Third helping," Bernie said, sliding more onto Thane's plate. "Good. I was worried about you."

"Ma'am, I can't."

"You can."

He ate it.

Cassidy laughed so hard she had to put down her fork.

She wore one of Bernie's cardigans over her jeans, and she had been laughing more every day.

"I have news," she said, when she could talk. "I wasn't going to say anything until after the pie."

"Say it now," Bernie said. "Pie is not a bribe."

"The manager at Aldrich and Pine called me yesterday."

I looked up.

"She saw me at the airport on the news," Cassidy said.

"A hostess quit, and she asked if I would like to start Tuesday."

"You're going to wait tables in that room?" I said.

"I'm going to seat people in it," she said. "I like that room now. It's the only place where the whole story came out."

Bernie reached over and squeezed her hand.

"Eat your pie, honey," she said. "You're one of mine."

I looked around the table at the three people who had held the door open for me.

I did not trust myself to speak.

Thane caught my eye.

He smiled and lifted his glass of milk.

"To Bernie's mail," he said.

"To paper," said Bernie.

"To payroll," I said, and we drank.

By nine that night I was in Thane's bed with the lamp on and my hair loose on his pillow.