Chapter 5: Sunday Lunch

Lucille Pellam called me on Wednesday and asked me to Sunday lunch.

"Neil says you've been staying with your sister, dear. Come and eat something."

I said yes, and Colleen said I was out of my mind.

I had my reasons.

Brogan's name had been in my head for four days, and his mother was the only person alive who could tell me what Neil's family had said about him.

I put my phone in my cardigan pocket, with the recorder running.

Lucille lived in a brick colonial near the lake, with a clipped hedge and a brass knocker shaped like an acorn.

She opened the door in a pressed blouse and her pearls, and she looked me over from head to foot.

"You've gotten thin."

"I've had a week," I said.

"Come in, come in."

The dining room table was set for six.

Two of Lucille's friends from church were already seated, a retired couple with matching reading glasses on cords.

Neil stood up from the head of the table when he saw me.

He crossed the room, took my hand, and kissed the back of it.

"I'm so glad you came," he said, loud enough for everyone.

I let him hold my hand for exactly as long as it took to see the Hearth speaker on the sideboard.

It was small and white, with one green light.

I took my hand back.

Lucille served roast chicken, green beans and a basket of rolls, and for twenty minutes everyone was kind.

The church friends told me about their grandchildren.

Neil passed me the butter before I reached for it.

I kept thinking, This is how it works.

Nothing he did was cruel, and all of it was a stage.

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