Chapter 4: Sunday Dinner

The next Sunday I walked into club dinner at six o'clock with my phone in my back pocket and an HDMI cable in my fist.

The long table in the clubhouse kitchen seats thirty.

I had built it from a bowling alley floor, board by board, and sanded it twice.

Every member of the Sawtooth Sons was already eating off it.

Marla Fenn stood at the stove in her flour apron, ladling out chili.

She saw me and her face went soft and worried at the same time.

"Dani, honey," she said. "Sit. You need a plate."

"Thank you, Marla. After."

Hoyt sat at the head with his hands folded, and he did not look surprised to see me.

Boone was at his right, thin and unshaven.

He half rose when he saw me, and Hoyt put one hand flat on the table, and Boone sat back down.

Jesse was at the far end, with an empty plate in front of him.

He met my eyes and gave the smallest shake of his head.

He had nothing yet, and I had come anyway.

"You came back," Hoyt said warmly. "Good. Family should say hard things to each other's faces."

"I agree."

I crossed to the big TV on the wall, the one I had mounted and wired, and plugged my phone in.

Nobody stopped me.

Everyone knew I was the only person in the building who knew how that screen worked.

"I'd like you all to see something from Saturday night," I said.

I pressed play.