Chapter 18: Family Dinner

My mother set the table for four and sat us like a seating chart.

Preston was on her right, Daphne on her left, and I was at the far end, with nobody beside me.

There was a casserole in the middle of the table, and nobody had touched it.

"Before we eat," my mother said, "I'm going to ask each of you a question, and I want a plain answer."

"Joan, this feels like a hearing," Preston said.

"It's dinner."

She folded her hands.

"Preston. How many of Brianna's appointments at the fertility clinic did you attend?"

He smiled the way he did at clients.

"Several. I don't keep a count."

"Name one."

"It was a Tuesday. In the spring."

"Of which year?"

"Joan, I don't see what this has to do with Daphne's baby."

"Brianna?"

"None," I said. "Not one in three years."

Preston's smile stayed where it was, and his foot started to tap under the table.

My mother turned to Daphne.

"Daphne. When did you and Preston first spend time alone?"

"Mom!"

"A plain answer."

"I don't know. When I moved in, I guess. He was only helping me."

"Helping you in a guest bed, with the door shut?"

Daphne's fork dropped onto her plate.

"Who told you that?"

"Your sister said it on the porch," my mother said. "I'm asking you to tell me it's wrong."

"It's wrong. She's making it into something."

My mother looked at her for a long time.

I had never seen her look at Daphne that way, with her glasses off and her face tired and unguarded.