Then she saw the total.
Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
Kevin, still chewing a piece of maple-glazed bacon, laughed. “Come on. It can’t be that bad.”
Madison turned the folder toward him.
Kevin stopped chewing.
Around them, the restaurant stayed soft and elegant. Forks rang lightly against plates. A violin version of an old pop song floated from hidden speakers. Their six children were restless, sticky-fingered, and asking about dessert.
The waiter, a slim man named Tomas, stood patiently beside the table.
“Will there be one card,” he asked politely, “or would you prefer to split it?”
Brian cleared his throat. “Our mother is joining us.” Mother'sDay gifts
Tomas looked toward the empty thirteenth chair. “Of course, sir. Would you like me to give you more time?”
“She’s on her way,” Madison said sharply.
Kevin looked down at his phone. Helen had sent nothing after the gate message.
Brian called her again.
Straight to voicemail.
Madison tried.
Voicemail.
Kevin sent three question marks.
No reply.
Lauren folded her arms. “Brian, did your mother actually go to Italy?” Mother'sDay gifts
“She wouldn’t,” Brian said.
But there was no confidence in his voice.
Madison’s husband, Eric, muttered, “Maybe someone should have checked before ordering two seafood towers.”
Madison snapped, “Don’t start.”
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