Chapter 13: Off the Porch

Rory's mother brought a pie to my father's kitchen table, and Bea ate half of it before anyone sat down.

It was Monday night.

The four of us took the chairs my father had sat in for thirty years, and I put a legal pad in the middle of the table.

"The dinner is in four weeks," I said. "Domenico gets his speech, and Daphne gets her award."

"And then?" said Bea.

"And then I ask them a question in front of four hundred people."

Rory's mother put down her fork.

"I want to be the one who says it," she said.

"Ma," said Rory.

"Don't Ma me. She used my name. She put my face on a screen next to a word I never had."

She looked at me across the table.

Her hands were folded, and they were steady.

"I raised that girl," she said. "I should be the one who stands up and says I'm well."

I looked at Rory.

He didn't argue with her, and he didn't look at me for permission, either.

"Then we'll build it around her," he said.

"Rory, you'd stand up beside your mother against your sister?" I asked.

I hadn't meant to say it aloud.

He turned his head.

"You think I wouldn't."

"I think she's your sister."

"She is."

"I think when it comes down to it, you'll go back to her."

Bea set her mug down very quietly.

Rory opened his mouth to answer, and a car door slammed outside.

I knew the sound of that white SUV by then.

I got to the front window first.

Daphne was already on the sidewalk in her pale yellow coat, and her friend was out of the passenger seat with a phone held up.

Four neighbors stood on the stoop next door.

Daphne climbed my father's steps and knocked three times, gently.

I opened the door, and she looked past me.

"Mom," she said, and her voice shook. "Oh, Mom. You shouldn't be here. She's been so cruel to you, hasn't she? Rory, how could you bring her?"

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