Chapter 21: The Head of the Table

Lena's POV

The last car left the drive at half past ten.

The board chair stopped at the door with his wife on his arm and shook Harrison's hand with both of his.

"Walter would have been proud," he said. "See you Monday, Mr. Chairman."

Dylan had gone out through the kitchen, alone, while the garden club ladies were still collecting their coats.

Harrison sent the caterers home and the housekeeper to bed, and he turned off the lanterns one by one down the lawn.

The house went quiet around us.

I stood at the end of the long table in the green dress, with my shoes in my hand.

The carved chair at the head still had its arms open, and Harrison stood behind it without sitting down.

"I don't know how to be in this room," he said.

"Sit down."

"It's hers."

"It was your father's first."

He sat.

He sat slowly, with his hands on the arms and the dark lake in the glass behind him.

I put my shoes on the floor and walked up the length of the porch.

"The terms," I said.

"Say them."

"No touching unless I start it."

"I remember."

I stopped in front of him and hitched the green dress up to my thighs, and I climbed into his lap.

He sucked in a breath.

I put my hands on either side of his face, over the scar and the stubble, and I kissed him until his hands came up off the arms of the chair.

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