Chapter 13: The Table

Norman parked at the curb of the old house at ten to six and cut the engine.

The porch swing hung on its two chains with a pumpkin on the seat.

Mom's car sat in the driveway, with Dexter's car behind it and Dad's behind that.

"You were on that laptop until midnight," Hallie said from the back seat. "I heard the keys through the wall of the diner."

"Norman took it off me at one."

"I took it off him at one," Norman agreed, and pulled his fire department cap down to his eyebrows.

Dexter's roommate sat beside Hallie with his backpack held on his knees.

"I'll wait in the hall by the front door," he said. "Where I can see the room."

"You can come to the table."

"I'd rather stand."

Mom opened the front door before I reached the top step.

She had on the blue blouse from my graduation, and flour on her cuff.

"Quinn." Her hands came up, and then she stopped them. "May I hug you?"

I stood still for a second.

"Quick," I said.

She held on for about as long as I could take, and let go the moment I stiffened.

The hall smelled like sage and butter.

Dexter's leather duffle sat against the wall under the coat hooks, zipped, with the strap looped over the newel post.

Nobody had looked at it but us.

The dining room was the one from the FaceTime call, warm and bright, with the good plates out.

Dad stood by the window in a pressed shirt, with a manila folder under his arm.

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