Chapter 6 - The Gathering at the Table
The hallway smelled of sage, roasting turkey, and Mom’s heavy vanilla room spray.
The minute we crossed the threshold, Jared stepped out of the dining room into the hall. He was wearing an expensive merino wool sweater, gray slacks with a razor-sharp crease, and Italian leather loafers that made no sound on the floorboards. Alyssa was right beside him. Her hand was tucked inside the crook of his elbow, her fingers resting lightly on the wool. She had a gold band on her left hand, thicker and wider than the simple silver loop on Maeve’s finger.
Jared didn't look at Maeve. He didn't even acknowledge the pie dish.
He looked right into my eyes, let his mouth curl into that familiar, slow, razor-edged grin he’d perfected since high school, and spoke with enough volume that Mom could hear him clearly from the stove:
""Guess she picked the one who showed up.""
The hallway went dead silent.
Behind him, Alyssa’s face tightened. She looked away instantly, her gaze dropping to the floorboards between my boots and Jared’s loafers.
Five years of swallowed pride, five years of cold drives through North Iowa blizzards, five years of Mom calling me the disappointment—it all rose into my throat like battery acid.
I didn't yell. I took one step forward, planting my heels on the runner. I ignored Jared completely. I looked straight at Alyssa until she was forced to look up and meet my eyes.
""Five years ago,"" I said, each word hitting the hallway like an iron wedge, ""I drove forty minutes to Sheffield with my emergency hazards flashing so fast the relay switch burned out. I ran through three stop signs because Jared called me screaming that Dad was lying broken on the kitchen floor.""
From the dining room, Mom’s voice came cutting through the doorway like a dull saw: ""Not this again! Dane, on Thanksgiving? Lord in heaven, let it go!""
And right from the den, Dad’s raspy voice barked over the sound of the parade on TV: ""I was fine! I told you I was fine!""
""Which was true,"" I said, my voice steady, never leaving Alyssa’s wide, startled eyes. ""That was the whole problem, Alyssa. Dad was fine. He was watching television with his hearing aids in a cup. And while I was standing in his living room trying to figure out why he wasn't dead, my brother was sitting in my seat at the Brass Lantern telling you I didn't care enough to show up.""
Alyssa’s mouth parted slightly. A flush of dark red crept up her throat, spreading across her cheeks. She turned her head slowly, looking up at Jared’s profile.
Jared’s smile didn't break, but his jaw jumped once. ""Alyssa, he’s inventing things again. He’s been carrying this chip on his shoulder since—""
""Hi, Jared,"" Maeve’s voice came from right behind my shoulder.
It wasn't angry. It was bright. Casual. The way you speak to someone you see across the grocery aisle by the canned corn.
Jared stopped. He turned his eyes toward Maeve for the first time.
May you like
Maeve stepped around me into the hall light, holding the warm pie dish against her chest. She looked him up and down—from his styled hair down to his spotless leather loafers—and her lips twitched with a small, dangerous smile.
""You still owe me a tip,"" she said.
