Chapter 13: The Roast Beef

Cory opened our front door at noon on Saturday and didn't know where to put his hands.

"Heath said I should let you cook," he said. "He said it would be good for you."

"I'm sure he did."

Megan walked in behind me with two grocery bags and a laptop case, and she didn't say hello.

The dining table was where I had left it, bare and wiped down.

My ring still sat in the middle of the wood.

Cory hadn't moved it.

He had walked past it for a week, and he had eaten his dinners standing at the counter.

"I didn't want to touch it," he said.

"That's fine."

I picked up the first stack of plates and set them down around the ring.

Eight places, because Heath had said eight.

Megan carved the roast at the counter at five, and the whole house smelled the way it had on every Saturday I had spent in this kitchen.

This time my feet were up on a stool while the potatoes finished.

Megan had made me sit.

At six, Heath came up the walk with a bottle of wine and the two other men behind him.

He kissed my cheek in the doorway.

"There she is," he said. "Look at this table."

"Come in, Heath."

"Where's the guest of honor?" He looked past me into the house. "Amber's bringing dessert, she'll be along."

"And your wife?"

"Under the weather." He didn't blink. "She sends her love."

One of the other men shook my hand and said he was sorry about the mix-up.

The other one looked at the floor and said the house looked great.

They knew.

Both of them had stood on that patio with a glass in the air.