Chapter 22: At Her Mother's Table

Hattie's POV

On Sunday, Marrow Creek filled the church basement for the second time in a month.

Nobody had died.

The ladies' auxiliary had been told that Hattie Drinkwater was bringing the man from the television, and they had baked accordingly.

There were four hams.

My brothers sat at the long table in a row, with their elbows on the paper cloth and their faces arranged.

The younger twin had already eaten two plates.

"This is the best ham I have ever tasted," he said, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. "I need the recipe, ma'am."

"It's your mother's recipe," said a woman from the auxiliary, and went pink with pleasure.

"She would have been proud of you all," I said, and the woman patted my arm.

Finbar came down the stairs at noon.

He had a haircut.

I hadn't known what I would feel, and what I felt was that I'd have walked through a wall for him.

He wore a plain gray suit and no tie.

He stopped at the bottom step and looked at forty neighbors looking at him.

"Mr. Hulme," said the plant's union steward, from the first table. "I hear you gave us a trust."

"I returned money I shouldn't have had," Finbar said.

"Hm," said the steward. "Sit down and eat something."

He sat.

I watched my brothers watch him.

The pilot spoke first.

"Mr. Hulme."

"Finbar."

"Mr. Hulme." The pilot didn't blink. "Do you know how to change a tire?"

"I do."

"Do you know how to change one on a truck?"

"I'm aware that they are bigger."

"He's aware," the pilot said to the table, and wrote nothing down.

"What are your intentions?" said the older twin.

"Honorable."

"Define honorable."

"I intend to ask her a question in front of everyone.

"If the answer is no, I'll hear it in the same room."

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