“The second time was for coffee.”
“At the end of our driveway?”
Elias looked at me.
“She has become difficult since retirement.”
“I suspect she practiced earlier.”
Miriam smiled and led us through the house.
The place felt crowded before we reached the kitchen.
Family photographs covered an entire wall. Children at graduations. Adults in work clothes. Weddings. A woman in a military uniform. Two men holding a baby wrapped in yellow. Elias younger, darker-haired, standing beside a truck.
No photograph seemed more important than another.
At the back of the house, double doors opened onto a broad yard.
Long tables stood beneath canvas awnings. People sat in mismatched chairs. Someone tended a smoker near the barn. The air smelled of wood fire, citrus, and roasted meat.
Conversations quieted when we appeared.
Not completely.
Enough that I felt every face turn.
I braced for judgment before anyone offered it.
Reid’s hand touched the base of my neck.
Warm.
Grounding.
Miriam raised her voice.
“This is Noah, and this is Reid. They are not a public meeting, so don’t interrogate them.”
A woman near the table laughed.
“You say that after gathering the entire county?”
“I invited immediate family.”
“Your definition includes the mail carrier.”
“He comes hungry.”
The woman stood and came toward us.
“I’m Celia. Elias’s oldest.”
She shook Reid’s hand, then mine.
Her gaze moved to my cane.
Not my scars.
