She was looking at Cole.
He rose from the hearth.
“I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“You’re my husband.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
He looked at me, but I could not give him instructions. I had spent his childhood teaching him how to cross roads and hold knives and tell the truth. I could not stand beside every choice he made.
He turned back to her.
“I won’t say she signed it.”
Tara’s face became very still.
“I haven’t asked you to.”
“No. But I think you were going to.”
Her father took her coat from the banister.
She went upstairs without another word.
Cole followed only long enough to collect a bag. When he came down, he placed his house key on the hall table.
“I’ll arrange a time for the rest.”
I nodded.
“Mom—”
“Not tonight.”
He pressed his lips together and left.
Tara came down last. She paused beside the photograph of Walt and the trout, then continued to the door.
She did not apologize.
When their car disappeared, I stood with my hand on the latch.
Ruth waited behind me.
“I thought I’d feel stronger,” I said.
“You’ve been standing up a long time. Sit down.”
At the dining table, the turkey had gone cold.
Ruth reheated two plates while I gathered the abandoned napkins. When she returned, she moved Walt’s empty place setting gently to the sideboard.
“Here?” she asked, touching the chair beside mine.
“Yes.”
