Chapter 13: The Pantry Door

Helen's text came at four, while I was holding a terrier still for his shots.

Come to my house at five. Family only. We will be civil.

I read it twice in the supply closet.

Then I typed back: Fine.

I wanted to see her face.

Mindy had asked her at the cafe if she wanted to tell everyone why Mindy left, and Helen had gone white.

I wanted to know what a woman looks like when she has kept that for six years.

Helen's house sits on a corner lot on the lower South Hill, with a porch swing and a flag.

The front door was unlocked.

"Hello?" I said.

Nobody answered.

A pot lid ticked on the stove.

Gabe stood in the kitchen with one arm up inside the cabinet over the sink, holding a hinge in place with a screwdriver.

He took his arm out when he saw me.

He put the screwdriver on the counter very carefully.

"She called me too," he said. "She said family meeting. She's not here. She went to pick up the cake."

"Of course she did."

"I can go."

"Stay," I said. "If you leave, she'll say I drove you out."

He nodded and picked up the screwdriver again.

I stood by the table with my bag still on my shoulder.

We did not look at each other.

The kitchen smelled of onions and lemon polish.

Over the stove hung a photograph of the two brothers as boys, in matching sweaters, squinting.

"You look like her in that one," I said.

"I know."

"You look like him in the others."

"I know that too."

He tightened the hinge, and the cabinet door swung shut without a sound.

"I called Mindy this morning," he said. "She said to tell you she isn't angry at me. She said you could be as angry as you like."

"I am."

"Good."

"Don't say good."

"Okay."

"You asked me for one night," I said. "I gave it to you. Then you sat across from me at that table and watched me eat potatoes."

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