pan into the kitchen.
”Everything smells incredible!” Christa exclaimed.
For a moment, I felt appreciated.
Then I began counting the place settings.
One for Owen.
One for Christa.
Two for her parents.
And one for Maya.
Five plates.
There were six people in the house, including me.
I assumed someone had forgotten an extra setting.
”Christa, sweetheart, should I bring another plate?”
She barely looked up.
”Oh, Dorothy, you won’t need one.”
I paused.
”What do you mean?”
She gestured casually toward the refrigerator.
”There are leftovers in there. You can have those. Tonight’s dinner is really for my parents.”
I thought I’d misunderstood.
”You’re asking me to eat separately?”
Christa gave an impatient sigh.
”My parents came a long way, Dorothy. We’re trying to make the evening special for them.”
I turned toward Owen.
My son stood beside the kitchen doorway.
He heard every word.
But instead of speaking,
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