Chapter 22: Settled

On Thanksgiving my mother put twelve chairs around a table built for eight.

She set them herself, at seven in the morning, with a tape measure.

I stood in the doorway holding two pies and watched her place the last one.

Her own chair went at the foot, by the kitchen.

"That's the seat Grandma gave you at Sunday dinner," I said.

"It's the seat that's closest to the stove."

"You're not moving it?"

"I'm leaving it exactly where it is." She smoothed the cloth. "Watch."

By two o'clock the house was full.

Caleb came in carrying a tray of rolls he had bought and pretended he hadn't baked.

On Monday morning I had sat beside him in the bank's glass office while a man read out the terms of his credit line.

The man gave him until Tuesday, when the Linden Court sale closed and the money came back, and the line stayed open.

Caleb had shaken his hand anyway.

Dad took them from him with a nod that was almost warm.

Two of Dad's old foremen came with their wives.

My mother's sister drove down from Toledo with a sweet potato dish and opinions.

Grandma arrived last, in the passenger seat of the long gray sedan, with Dennis driving.

He was wearing a clean shirt and no blazer, and he held a store-bought pie in front of him with both hands.

"Maureen," he said at the door.

"Dennis."

"I'm not staying if you don't want me to."

"Sit down by your mother," Mom said. "Don't talk until the turkey's cut."

He sat.

The sale of Linden Court had closed on Tuesday.

A young couple with a baby had paid cash, and the money went to the note.

The note belonged to my father.

Dennis was renting a one-bedroom behind the marina.

He told the whole table that in the first five minutes, quietly, without anyone asking.

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