No Seat for Me at This Table novel · Chapter 14 of 24

Chapter 14: Never the Right Sunday

"Come in," I said. "You can say it at the table."

My father sat in the chair across from mine, at my mother's oak table, with his cap on his knee.

Dino made coffee on the hotplate and put a mug in front of each of us, and then stood against the workbench with his arms folded.

I was still wearing Dino's shirt.

My father looked at that and then looked away, and I let him.

"Start with the year," I said.

"Your mother was four months along with you." He kept his eyes on the mug. "Lucia's husband worked nights on the docks, and she was alone in that house."

"And you were at her door."

"I was a stupid man."

"You were a married man."

"Yes."

He drank some coffee and winced.

"Mom knew the week Carla was born, and she made dinner anyway." His voice thickened. "She said the child was a child, and she would not have her punished for it."

I thought of the C under the table.

"She carved it that summer," I said.

"The same week."

The lamp hummed.

"And you let me find out from Aunt Lucia in front of the priest."

"I was going to tell you."

"When?"

"Your mother made me promise not until you were grown."

"I've been grown for five years, Dad."

"You were so happy. You had the apartment, and the boy, and your cousin down the hall." He rubbed his face. "Every Sunday I thought, not this one. It was never the right Sunday."

"Every Sunday."

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