Chapter 24: The Stairs

Theo turned one on a Sunday in August, and Gran's dining table had never been so crowded.

Finbar's mother had driven nine hours with a pie in her lap.

Gran's lawyer sat beside her, telling her about the clock in the front room.

The sergeant had come out of uniform, in a green sweater.

She sat very upright at the end of the table with a plate of roast chicken.

She did not seem to know where to put her hands.

"You can relax," I told her.

"I'm trying."

"Take your shoes off."

"I'll keep them on," she said. "In case."

Brynn had not come.

She had sent a card in the spring from a town three states away, where she waited tables.

I had put it in the drawer with the others.

I had not written back.

I had not thrown it out, either.

Theo sat in a high chair at my elbow, with frosting in both ears.

He had four teeth and an opinion about everything, and he told the table all of them in a language nobody spoke.

"He's got your temper," Finbar said.

"He has your volume."

"That's his father's good side."

Finbar's mother looked at him sharply.

Then she looked at me, and then at the pearls at my throat, and her whole face softened.

"Those are beautiful," she said. "Were they your grandmother's?"

"They were."

"May I?"

The table went quiet in a small, friendly way.

I knew what she was asking.

I thought of a cream wrap dress and a hand on a flat stomach.

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