Mark exhaled.
“But if Sabrina calls me a little lady soldier again, I’m billing you for dessert.”
He gave one short laugh, the first normal sound either of us had made all evening.
When we returned, the table had shifted into coffee and after-dinner drinks. Sabrina glanced at us, then at my empty chair as though mildly disappointed I had come back.
“There she is,” she said. “We thought Army life had made you retreat.”
Mark’s hand tightened at his side.
I sat down.
“Just needed air.”
Across the table, Judith’s smile appeared and disappeared too quickly.
Andrew had a leather portfolio beside his plate now.
I noticed three other things almost immediately.
Aunt Margaret had stopped rubbing her knuckles and was watching the portfolio. Uncle Robert had turned his hearing aid higher and kept glancing toward Judith. The older woman with the handbag had moved her chair closer to Judith’s side.
Pain recognized pain.
This time, I understood why the thought had come to me.
Sabrina began telling a story about wedding venues. Andrew laughed in the right places. He was polished, relaxed, generous with the waiter. Nothing about him looked like danger.
That was not evidence of anything.
Neither was Judith’s tension.
I kept reminding myself of that.
Observation was not accusation.
When dessert arrived, Andrew finally pulled the portfolio onto the table.
“Mom, before everyone scatters, we should finish that paperwork.”
Judith’s fork stopped halfway to her plate.
“Tonight?”
“It will take two minutes.”
Sabrina smiled. “Then we can be done with boring family administration and talk about flowers again.”
Andrew removed several pages and placed a pen beside them.
Mark looked at me.
I looked at Judith.
“What are you signing?” I asked.
Andrew did not even turn toward me. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
