Chapter 8: Brothers at the Table

Eli woke when he heard his uncle's voice.

"Uncle Erik!"

He slid off Craig's hip and ran, and Erik caught him under the arms and swung him up.

"Hey, buddy. You got big."

"I lost another tooth."

"Let me see. That's a champion hole."

Britt had come in behind Craig with Eli's jacket over her arm.

She stopped in the doorway with her mouth a little open.

Craig set his keys on the counter.

"Erik," he said again, in the same warm voice. "It's been years. What brings you to the neighborhood?"

"Jo called about her pipes," Erik said.

I had not called about any pipes.

"The pipes," Craig said.

"The kitchen faucet. It drips."

"It's fixed now," I said. "Thank you, Erik. You'll stay for dinner."

"He doesn't need to do that," Craig said.

"I made bread."

"Jo, you're supposed to be resting."

"I rested. Now I'm hungry and I'd like my family at my table."

I looked at my husband and did not blink.

For a moment nobody in that kitchen made a sound.

Under its towel on the counter, the bread dough kept rising.

Craig laughed.

"Of course. Britt, set another place."

She did, with a sharp little clink of silverware.

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