The Anniversary Dinner He Gave to Her novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Sunday Lunch

Lydia demands the money back in front of the whole Brandwell table and hears a slip that sounds like Dale is still alive. Cora hints about Thursdays.

On Sunday I went to Gail's for lunch.

I had slept two nights in a motel off the highway, paid for with the paycheck I had deposited myself.

The bank had told me what I already knew.

The transfer was legal, because Neil's name was on the account too, and the money was in an account in a dead man's name that I could not ask about.

So I printed the page, folded it in thirds and drove to the house where every Brandwell Sunday has been held for forty years.

There were fourteen people at the long table.

Aunts, cousins, two of Neil's uncles and their wives, a toddler in a booster seat.

Gail sat at the head with the carving knife.

My father-in-law sat at the foot.

Cora sat at his right hand in a cream sweater with her hair down, and she looked up at me and looked away.

Neil was beside her.

He stood up when I came in, and he didn't say a word.

"Well," Gail said. "Look who came to apologize."

"I'm not here to eat," I said.

"Then why did you come all this way?"

I unfolded the page and put it down on the white tablecloth in front of her plate.

"There was 80,000 dollars in our savings on Friday morning," I said. "It belonged to my grandmother. On Friday at 9:02 it went into an account named D. Brandwell. I want it back."

The room had been loud when I walked in.

It went quiet one chair at a time.

"Lydia," one of the aunts said. "Is this really the place?"

"It's the only place I can find all of you."

"Over money?"

"Over eighty thousand dollars that you all know I never agreed to move."

"It's family money," Gail said. She picked up the knife and cut a slice of roast. "You put it in a family account. It's where it belongs."

"I put it in a joint account with my husband. That's a different thing."

"Is it?"

"Yes, Gail. Ask any lawyer in this room."

Nobody at that table was a lawyer.

My father-in-law cleared his throat and put down his fork.

He is a heavy, soft-voiced man who has spent his whole life agreeing with his wife, and in ten years I had never once heard him raise his voice.

"Lydia," he said. "I know you're hurt. But you have to understand what that money is for. Dale needs it."

Gail's knife stopped.

Neil said, "Dad."

My father-in-law blinked.

"Needed," he said. "Dale's debts needed it. I mean what's left of them. I misspoke."

I looked at Cora.

She had gone as white as the tablecloth, and both of her hands were holding onto her napkin.

"Dale's debts," I said.

"The boat," my father-in-law said. "The charter business. There were creditors."

"Who? Name one."

"It's not for you to..." Gail began.

"I'm asking him."

"I think the lawyers handled it," he said. "I don't follow all of it, Lydia. Gail does the paperwork."

"Then it's Gail's account."

"It's the family's," Gail said. "And you are being obscene. Our son is dead, and you come to my table on a Sunday with a printout."

"Your son has been dead two years, and I've sat at this table every Sunday of them. I never asked for a thing. I'm asking for one thing now."

"And you'll get it," Gail said, "when you apologize to Cora."

"I'm not apologizing to her."

"Then you can leave."

I picked up the page and folded it again.

"I'll see you in court," I said.

Gail laughed, one short laugh.

"With what, dear? You don't have a dime that didn't come through this family."

I looked at Neil.

He was staring at the roast on his plate.

"You're going to let her say that," I said.

"Lydia, I..."

"That's an answer."

I walked out of the dining room.

I made it down the front steps and across the gravel to my car before I heard the screen door.

Cora came down the steps in her socks.

She had her cardigan pulled across her chest, and she stopped a few feet from me and looked back at the house.

"You shouldn't have said that to Gail," she said. "She'll freeze your cards."

"She can't. They're mine."

"She'll find a way."

"Is that why you came out here? To warn me about your mother-in-law?"

"No."

She came a step closer.

Her eyes were red, and her voice was low enough that I had to lean toward her to hear it.

"Ask Neil where he goes on Thursdays," Cora said.

"What?"

"Every Thursday, since June. He tells you it's the late meeting." She wiped her cheek with the back of her wrist. "Don't tell Gail I said it. Please."

She turned and ran back across the gravel in her socks.

The screen door slapped shut behind her.

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