Chapter 18: In the Living Room

Randall set the table for six in the end.

He put Danica on his right and me at the far end, by his mother, and nobody argued about it.

Darren carried in the wine and set it by Randall's glass without being asked, and I watched Bennett watch him do it.

The soup went around. Nobody ate it.

Randall put his spoon down.

"I'm going to ask a question," he said. "I want everyone to let me finish."

"Of course, darling," Danica said.

"There is a recording. Darren is in it. So are you."

Danica's hand went to her stomach.

"Randall, I told you. It was a rehearsal."

"You told me. I'd like to hear it again, with the people who saw it sitting here." He folded his napkin. "Is the child mine?"

"Yes."

She said it at once, with her chin up and her eyes full.

Darren didn't speak. He took a sip of water.

"Randall," said his mother. "May I?"

"Mother..."

"I'm seventy-nine. I'm allowed one question at a dinner party."

She turned her whole chair, slowly, to face the young man at the other end of the table.

"Darren. Whose baby is it?"

"Ma'am, you're upset."

"I asked."

"It's Mr. Alder's." He smiled at her, patient and kind. "I'd say so under oath."

"You don't need to go that far," said the old woman.

Randall looked from one of them to the other.

"Danica," he said. "Look at me and say it again."

She turned in her chair.

"It's yours, my love."

And before the words were finished, her eyes went to Darren.

It took no time at all. It was less than the length of a breath.

But I was watching Randall, and I saw him catch it.

He saw her look to the man by the wall for permission, the way a child looks at a parent, and then back to him.