Chapter 8: Sunday Dinner

The Sunday that was supposed to be my wedding day, I sat down at Glenda Dray's dining table with a clean plate and a straight back.

She had sent the invitation herself, in her own handwriting, on a card with a gold edge.

A family dinner, it said. Come as you are, dear. We all want things settled.

Knox had read it over my shoulder and said I didn't have to go.

I told him I wanted to see her face when I walked in.

It was a long room with a chandelier and a dozen chairs, most of them filled by people I recognized from the engagement dinner.

Two of Glenda's sisters sat at one end, with their pearls on.

Corin was across from me, in a navy shirt I had once picked out for him, and he had clearly not slept in days.

Knox sat at my elbow, close enough that I felt it when he moved.

Nicolette came in last.

She wore black, and her light brown hair was braided over one shoulder, and she was carrying a pie.

"I didn't want to come empty-handed," she said, and set it down in front of Glenda.

Glenda pressed her hand.

"You are a saint," she said. "After everything you've been through."

The room made a soft sound of agreement.

Nicolette sat on Corin's left.

She did not look at me.

The soup came, and the roast after that, and nobody asked me a single question.

Glenda's sisters talked about the weather, and the church, and the unfortunate caterer who had to be refunded.

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