Chapter 4 - A Place at the Table
The roof inspector’s name was Leon.
He arrived in muddy boots, examined the water damage, and spoke to Emily instead of me.
I liked him immediately.
“The patch won’t hold through another winter,” he said. “And this section needs more than shingles.”
Emily nodded, listening carefully.
I stood nearby and kept my mouth shut.
It required more effort than several acquisitions I had negotiated.
When Leon finished, Emily asked for a written estimate and two references.
Only then did she glance at me.
I nodded.
Noah came home at three fifteen carrying a backpack with a broken zipper.
He stopped when he saw me kneeling beside the kitchen table.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to make this chair stop wobbling.”
“Did you buy a new one?”
“No.”
He set down his backpack.
“Why not?”
“Emily said this one could be fixed.”
He considered that, then crouched beside me.
“You’re turning it the wrong way.”
I looked at the screwdriver.
He was right.
He grinned before he could stop himself.
It was Samuel’s grin, sudden and crooked.
I had to look away.
For the next hour, he supervised me with merciless efficiency.
Emily made soup.
Nobody mentioned the company.
At dinner, Noah told us about a school project on local history. Each child had to interview someone older than sixty.
“How old are you?” he asked me.
“Sixty-five.”
He brightened.
“That’s plenty.”
Emily coughed into her napkin.
I suspected she was laughing.
“What do you need to know?” I asked.
“Something people used before the internet.”
“Encyclopedias.”
He wrote carefully.
“And did you have electricity?”
Emily lost the battle with her laughter.
I looked at her.
For one moment, I saw the woman who had once laughed barefoot in our kitchen.
Then she caught me looking, and the moment became something quieter.
After dinner, Noah went to finish his worksheet.
Emily stood at the sink.
“Don’t mistake an ordinary evening for everything being repaired,” she said.
“I won’t.”
“I was lonely long before you told me to leave.”
The words struck deeper than I expected.
“I know.”
“No. You know you feel guilty now. That’s different.”
I leaned against the counter.
She kept her eyes on the dishwater.
“I used to save things to tell you. Small things. A woman I met. A book I liked. Something funny at the grocery store.”
I remembered coming home, loosening my tie, asking whether dinner was ready.
“I learned to shorten the stories,” she continued. “Then I learned not to start them.”
I had believed our marriage was peaceful.
I understood, standing in that little kitchen, how often peace had simply meant she stopped expecting anything.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I believe you.”
Hope rose so quickly it embarrassed me.
Then she added, “That doesn’t make it safe.”
I nodded.
Before I could answer, my phone rang.
Victor Shaw.
My deputy chief executive.
I stepped onto the porch.
“Where are you?” he demanded.
“Kentucky.”
“With your former wife?”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“How did you know?”
“Richard called. Daniel, you’re upsetting people.”
“Good.”
“This could become a serious reputational problem.”
“Two workers died.”
“And those matters were resolved.”
“My niece was one of them.”
Silence.
Then his tone softened in a way I suddenly disliked.
“I understand this is emotional.”
“No,” I said. “You understand I’m paying attention.”
He exhaled.
“We need you in New York tomorrow. There’s an emergency board meeting.”
“I’ll attend remotely.”
“That would be unwise.”
I looked through the kitchen window.
Noah was showing Emily something in his notebook.
For years, my whole life had been arranged around whatever someone in New York called urgent.
“I’ll decide what’s wise after I’ve read the facts.”
When I went inside, Noah looked up.
“Can I interview you tomorrow?”
I put my phone facedown.
“Yes.”
He studied me.
“Really tomorrow?”
I understood that question.
May you like
It had been asked in different words by nearly everyone I had loved.
“Really tomorrow,” I said.
