I had never checked it before, and I did not need to check it now.
The single still image I printed was enough.
Robbert noticed my calmness and began to grow uneasy inside it.
“You seem far away,” he said over breakfast Tuesday.
“I’ve been thinking about new beginnings,” I said, stirring my coffee. “It’s strange, isn’t it, how a person can build a life and then realize it’s time to build a different one.”
His fork stopped above his plate. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m planning a trip,” I said lightly. “After the dinner.”
He stared at me for a long moment, searching my face, and I gave him nothing.
By Friday afternoon, the guest list was complete.
My children, Emily and Daniel, had both confirmed.
Helen had called twice to ask whether I was sure I wanted to host, her voice careful in a way that told me she had sensed something without knowing what.
“I’m sure,” I told her. “I need you there.”
“Then I’ll be there,” she said. “Whatever it is.”
I spent Saturday morning polishing silver I had not taken out in years.
I ironed the linen tablecloth my mother had embroidered.
I arranged Kate’s lilies in the center of the table.
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