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The brass didn’t rattle.
It sat warm in my palm, and for a second the only sound in the dining room was the soft hiss of the candles.
Daniel’s eyes dropped to it, then snapped back to my face.
He was breathing through his mouth now, his cheeks still red from shouting.
“What is that?” he said. “Some joke?”
I didn’t answer him.
I slipped my arms into my wool coat, one sleeve at a time.
The lining whispered.
Ethan was already half out of his chair, his napkin fallen to the floor.
His younger brother Noah stared at me with his fork still buried in the potatoes, his eight-year-old eyes too wide.
Linda’s hand found the edge of the table and gripped it.
Melissa folded her arms and tilted her head, that smile still painted on.
“Oh, come on,” she said, her voice too loud for the quiet. “You’re not going anywhere. It’s snowing. It’s Christmas dinner.”
I buttoned the top button of my coat.
My fingers knew the motion by heart.
“I’ve been packing for three weeks,” I said.
The words landed differently than the shouting had.
Daniel blinked.
“What are you talking about? Packing what?”
“My things,” I said. “The quilts your grandmother made. My father’s watch. The photo albums. My sewing machine. They’re already gone.”
Noah made a small sound then, a confused little breath.
Melissa’s smile slipped a fraction.
“Gone where?” Daniel said, and there was an edge of panic starting to fray his anger. “You don’t have anywhere to go.”
Ethan took a step toward me.
“Grandma?”
I looked at him, and I let my hand rest for just a moment on his shoulder as he came close.
His jacket was too thin for December.
He had grown three inches since summer and his mother still hadn’t bought him a new one.
