Chapter 31: Sunday on Mill Lane

The cottage kitchen had never held seven people, and it held them anyway.

Willa had set the pine table with every plate she owned and borrowed three from Auntie.

The range had run hot all morning.

The lamb came out of the oven at one o'clock.

"It needs more salt," said Auntie, who had tasted the gravy.

"It has exactly as much salt as Grandma's."

"Your grandmother was a liar about salt."

"Auntie."

"I'm only saying."

Jasper stood in the doorway with a basket of bread.

He had been told not to touch anything, and he looked it.

Willa pointed at the table with the carving knife.

"Sit. Don't help."

"I made the bread."

"I know. It's the one with the burned bottom. Sit anyway."

He sat. Her father passed him the butter without a word, and Jasper took it carefully.

At half past one a car stopped at the gate.

Nolan got out of the gray sedan and unbuckled Birdie from her seat.

He carried her up the path in both arms, and Willa met him at the door.

He did not come in. He had not asked to.

"She's had her nap," he said. "She'll want the bread."

"Thank you for bringing her."

"Daphne's seen her Thursday. The nurse says it went well."

"Good."

His ears were pink, and he looked down at his daughter instead of at her.

"I'll come back at four."

"Nolan."

"Yes?"

"You could stay for the lamb."

He shook his head, and for the first time in three years it did not look like pain.

"Not yet. Another Sunday."

He kissed Birdie on the top of the head, and he went down the path without turning.

Birdie held out her arms to the kitchen.

Willa's mother caught her up with a happy noise.

She carried her to the chair beside the range.

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