Chapter 20: The First Slice

Mara's POV

The guard at the door of the lake house took every phone that Sunday, as he did every week.

He took Dario's last, and he took his time over it.

"Family rule, Mr. Sandri," he said, and put it in the basket with the others.

Dario smiled at him.

"Of course. It's a good rule."

Seven family heads sat down at the long table, with their wives beside them and their sons behind.

Allegra's mother sat on Vincenzo's left in her black coat, holding her purse in her lap with both hands.

I sat on his right.

For the first time in three years, nobody at that table looked past me.

Some of them looked at me with respect.

A few looked at me with fear.

The wife of Dario's son sat three seats down, and she kept her eyes on her plate.

Dario stood at the foot of the table with his white box in his hands.

His right hand was still bandaged.

He cleared his throat, and the room went quiet.

"I have been a fool," he said.

Nobody said a word.

"I let grief make me cruel. I accused a girl who has lost more than I have."

"I called her a stranger, when all she ever did was bring my nephew home to dinner."

He looked at me, and his eyes were wet.

"Mara, I am sorry. I would like to give you a Sunday the way it used to be."

A murmur went through the table.

I saw two of the old heads nod.

They wanted the quarrel to be over, and they were tired.

"Brothers," Dario said, "this family has buried a daughter this week. Let us break bread over it, and let the dead rest."

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