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She reaches for the wine bottle, then notices it’s empty. “Please tell me there’s another one.”
“In the kitchen.”
“Perfect.”
Before I can stand, Ava carries the empty bottle into the kitchen and returns with a full one. She fills Mom’s glass before pouring her own, then settles back into her chair.
“Now,” she says, smiling at Mom, “which Greek island was your favorite?”
By the time we finish the main course, the room has settled again. Ava keeps Mom talking while Tom and Carl debate whether fishing counts as a sport when most of it involves sitting down.
Mom glances at Jackson’s untouched place and then looks at Ava. “Did you hear from him? Did he say why he didn’t come?”
Ava pauses with her wineglass halfway to her mouth. For the first time all afternoon, she hesitates. Her eyes meet mine across the table, and I understand. She knows why Jackson stayed away, but she doesn’t want to say it in front of us.
“Ava brought two desserts,” I say. “I think we’ve waited long enough to open those boxes.”
Tom pushes away his empty plate. “Finally, something this family can agree on.”
Mom gives a small laugh, and I get up to bring in dessert. No one mentions Jackson again.
Lunch lasts another hour. Mom and Carl leave first. Ava follows soon after, hugging everyone within reach and promising to send me her proposal on Wednesday.
Tom waits until the front door closes behind her, then reaches for his keys.
“You’re helping me clean up.”
“I came early. That was my contribution.”
“You sat here and drank my wine.”
“Exactly. Daniel can clean.”
“Daniel already left.”
“Then you should’ve stopped him.”
He’s out the door before I can put a plate in his hands.
The house feels too quiet after everyone leaves. I return to the dining room and begin clearing the table. Daniel’s plate is still half-full, and Jackson’s place hasn’t been touched. Still, some of it went right. Mom came. Daniel showed up, even if he left early. Ava kept everyone talking, and for a few hours, we almost had a normal family lunch. It isn’t much, but it’s a start.
By the time I finish cleaning the kitchen, the afternoon light has shifted across the windows, and I’ve thought about Rachel at least twelve times. I check my phone, but there’s no message from her.
I call anyway. It rings long enough for me to picture her watching my name flash across the screen and deciding not to answer. When the call goes to voicemail, I hang up without leaving a message.
She trusted me enough to call when the Hartwell was in trouble. When I called her later, she laughed with me until the word husband slipped out. It surprised me too. I was making a joke, not proposing, but her voice changed at once. A few seconds later, she ended the call. Apparently, the first woman I’ve liked in years is terrified of commitment. One joke about becoming her husband, and I’m back to voicemail.
This is getting ridiculous. Rachel seems able to push me from her mind, while I can’t go ten minutes without thinking about her. She can ignore my calls, but she’s far less convincing when we’re in the same room.
I recall the poster on her desk. Bingo begins at seven in the Hartwell ballroom. If she won’t answer her phone, I know where to find her. I head upstairs to change. Rachel and I are going to talk.
22
RACHEL
Granddad always claimed the annual charity bingo practically ran itself. He lied. We’re fifteen minutes into the evening, and the microphone has already failed twice, a tea urn is leaking across the refreshment table, and three people have challenged Brenda Walsh’s win in the first game because she shouted bingo before I finished calling the number. I’m beginning to understand that bingo players take the rules more seriously than most professional athletes.
Still, the small ballroom is full, every raffle ticket has sold, and we’ve raised eighteen thousand four hundred dollars for Elders Children’s Hospital. More donations will come in before the night is over.
