Chapter 11: Friday Dinner

Dane's house had a long oak table, and he had set it for five with the good plates.

There was a pot roast, a bottle of wine, and a candle in the middle.

Willa had lit it with her jaw clenched.

Archie sat at the end in a booster seat.

He was drawing on the back of a place card with a green marker.

I took the chair across from Willa.

Lydia sat on my left, and Dane at the head, carving.

"Cal, you're too thin," he said, forking meat onto my plate. "You've been living on cereal."

"I've been fine."

"Take two slices. Humor me."

Under the table, my knee bumped something warm.

It was Willa's.

The table was narrow and the legs were thick.

There was nowhere else for either of us to put our feet.

She did not move away.

She was cutting her roast with a very steady hand and a very flat face.

I didn't move either.

It was a stupid, small thing, her knee against mine through two layers of cloth.

I felt it more than I felt the wine.

"A toast," said Dane.

He lifted his glass and smiled around the table.

"To family. We've had a strange couple of weeks, and nobody's said it out loud."

"So I will. Families go through things."

His eyes rested on me for a moment.

"And they come out closer."

"To family," said Lydia, so softly I almost didn't hear.

I raised my glass and did not drink.

"So," Dane said, setting his down. "The money."

Lydia's fork clinked against her plate.

"Lyd told me about the mix-up."

"I think it's wonderful, honestly. A woman wanting to give to a boy's education, that's good for anyone."

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