The Paper Trail novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Sunday Lunch

Mavis Haskell lived in a stone house in Whitefish Bay, and she served Sunday lunch at one o'clock sharp.

She had done it every Sunday for forty years, through a husband's funeral and two hip operations.

I had always loved her.

I stood on her porch with my hand on the doorbell and the gray folder under my arm.

Judson's silver car was already in the drive.

Mavis opened the door in a gray cardigan and her good pearls, and her eyes went straight to my face.

"There you are," she said. "Come in, dear. You look thin."

"Hello, Mavis."

"I told Judson you'd come," she said, low. "He said you were too unwell."

"I'm fine," I said.

"I can see that," she said, and gave my arm a squeeze that held a little too long.

The dining room had white linen and her mother's china.

Judson sat at the head of the table with his hands folded, wearing the face of a man who had been hurt and was being brave.

"Ella," he said. "Thank God. I've been calling you."

"I know."

"I just want you to be okay."

"I know that too," I said, and sat.

For ten minutes I was the old Ella.

I accepted the soup, and I asked after Mavis's hip.

I let Judson tell his mother, in a trembling voice, that I had been acting strangely since last week.

I let him say I had walked out with company files.

I let him say a doctor friend had mentioned "some options."

Mavis listened without a word, with her spoon resting in the bowl.

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