She looked from the green door to me.
“Is this the Hale House?”
“Yes.”
“Someone told me there would be a room.”
“There is.”
She took one step onto the porch.
Then another.
Marissa stood and opened the door wider.
The boy peeked inside.
I moved toward the dining room and pulled out the fourth chair.
The woman saw it.
Her eyes filled.
“Is someone sitting there?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “It is waiting for you.”
She placed her suitcase beside the chair.
The boy climbed into it, small hands gripping the polished edge of the table.
His mother sat beside him.
For a moment, none of us spoke.
The room was quiet except for the distant sound of children in the yard and the soft ticking of Robert’s old clock.
I set four plates on the table.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Then I placed the silver beside them and poured water into every glass.
The woman looked at me.
“Do we have to stay for dinner?”
“No,” I said. “But you are welcome to.”
She looked at her son.
He looked at the bread in the basket.
