I stopped.
For a moment, I remembered the Bellamy ballroom.
The gold decorations.
The enormous flower arrangements.
The tiny table beside the kitchen doors.
Then I looked at my sister.
“Yes,” I said.
She nodded and stepped aside.
I sat beside Grandma.
Patricia passed me the bread.
Vanessa took the chair across from us.
Grandma set down her knife and reached for the serving spoon.
“Clara, would you give your sister some potatoes?”
I lifted the dish and held it out.
Vanessa took a spoonful.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then Grandma began telling us about a neighbor who had accidentally planted tomatoes in her flower bed, and Patricia interrupted to correct three details of the story.
Vanessa laughed.
I did too.
The potatoes were still warm when we passed the dish around again.
