Chapter 7: One Table, Four Liars

"She's in the ladies' room," Justin said. "She came to drop off a form."

"At nine at night?"

"Her insurance closes at ten."

Stanley was quiet.

I lay under the desk with a sweater on my head and prayed.

"Tell her I said hello, then," Stanley said finally. "I'll see her Sunday."

His boots went to the door, and it clicked shut.

Justin waited until the footsteps were gone.

Then he put his forehead on the desk and laughed so hard he shook.

I crawled out and hit him with the sweater.

"It isn't funny," I said.

"It's a little funny."

"Your father just told you to be kind to me."

His laugh stopped.

"Yes," he said. "He did."

On Sunday I wore the one dress that still fit.

Stanley lived in a brick house with a porch swing and a flag, and he met us at the door in a flannel shirt with a whistle on a cord around his neck.

He hugged Mom first.

Then he looked at me and held out his hand.

"Susanna," he said. "I've heard so much."

His hand was big and warm, and his eyes were the same gray as his son's.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"Kiddo," he said, grinning. "Sit anywhere."

I sat across from Mom, and Justin came in last with a bottle of wine and a face of polished stone.

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