Chapter 14: Sunday Dinner

Lydia's POV

My mother set a place for me at Sunday dinner, and I walked in smiling and asking whose house this was.

I had practiced the line in Devin's car.

"Lydia," my mother said, rising from her chair with both hands out. "It's Mom, sweetheart. You're home."

She had called Pearl's number on Friday and said the family wanted me back for one dinner, with no deputy and no forms.

Devin had driven me up Lake Road and parked at the corner.

"Twenty minutes," he said. "If you're not out, I come in."

"If I'm not out, you call the Vermilion police."

"I'll do both."

Now my mother held my face and kissed my forehead.

Her hands were warm and dry, and I had to keep my own from shaking.

The dining room looked the way it had on my birthday, with the same long table and the same cake plate on the sideboard.

My father stood by his chair with a glass in his hand.

He nodded at me, once, and did not meet my eyes.

Britta was already seated, in a gray sweater, with her hair pulled back.

She did not smile.

"We're so glad you came," my mother said. "Sit, sit."

She put me next to Britta.

She put herself across from me, where she could see my hands.

The roast was the same roast.

I ate three bites and asked my father what his name was, and watched his face go pale.

"Gordon, sweetheart," my mother said. "Your father."

"Oh," I said. "I'm sorry. I knew that."

"Of course you did."

She said it so gently that I wanted to throw my fork.

When the plates were cleared, she opened her purse and took out a second brown bottle, newer than the first.

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