A Life Beyond Us novel · Chapter 23 of 24

Chapter 23: The Question

It was the woman from the sofa circle, with a casserole dish in both hands.

Behind her on the walk stood three more women from our year.

One held a pie and one held a bottle of wine.

"We heard there was a move-in," the first one said. "We figured nobody was cooking."

Bridget, halfway down the stairs, said, "I love every one of you."

They stayed for an hour.

Nobody asked a single question about the bedroom.

They asked Hugh about horses, and Tom about the new welding bay.

We all ate pizza and casserole off paper plates in a house full of boxes.

When the last of them left, the first one hugged me at the door.

"I should have stopped her years ago," she said into my ear.

"You walked out with me," I said. "That was the stopping."

On Sunday we drove to my parents' house.

I had not been this nervous since I was nine and had broken a window.

My mother met us at the door in her apron.

She looked at the three of us on the porch for a long beat.

Then she hugged Tom, hugged Hugh and hugged me last, hardest.

"You're late," she said. "The roast's been resting twenty minutes."

My father sat at the head of the table in his cardigan and did not look up from carving.

Bridget, on my left, kicked my ankle under the cloth.

We passed potatoes.

We passed beans.

My father took a few bites in silence before setting down his knife.

"Hugh," he said.

"Sir."

"You were the one who put the splint on the dog."

"The beagle. Yes, sir. I was fourteen."

"She cried for two days when you left for Montana." My father pointed his fork at me.

"She said you'd stopped answering because you hated us."

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