Chapter 17: Daddy

Breakfast at Kincannon Hall was nine kinds of eggs and a very large silence.

The cook had made the biggest stack of pancakes I had ever seen, and she set it in front of my younger son with a clunk.

He ate steadily and did not look up.

My daughter had arranged the table herself.

"Thane there," she said, pointing. "Lorcan there. Mom here. Me in the middle. The big chair is empty because the other one isn't here."

"The other one has a name," said my older son.

"He knows his name."

"Does he know we're mad at him?"

"I'm not mad," said my younger son, with his mouth full.

It was the first thing he had said all morning.

We all stared.

He swallowed. "I'm waiting."

"For what?" I asked.

He shrugged and cut another triangle of pancake, and I saw him drop the biggest piece into the pocket of his jacket.

I didn't say anything.

Thane sat at the far end with his coffee cooling, watching my older son and not eating.

My older son watched him back.

It went on for most of the meal.

Then my older son put down his fork and asked, in his flat, plain, terrible voice, "Why did you say Not mine?"

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