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“You go to church?” Andrew asked incredulously.
“Sometimes.” She stole the remains of a garlic knot off Patrick’s bread plate.
We all stared at her like we’d never seen her before.
“I’d like to go with you.” Mr. Dixon gave his daughter a soft smile.
“Sure. I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll come too.”
Now everyone looked at Holt like he was a stranger.
“Might as well text the memo,” Andrew said.
“Leave me out of it.” Patrick held up both of his hands.
“You scared you might disintegrate if you set foot inside a church?” Marlow cut her eyes over to him before she polished off the rest of her bread.
“I can’t rule it out as a possibility.”
Holt snorted. “Anyone ever notice how we end up in the strangest conversations at Sunday dinner?”
A server delivered mozzarella sticks, bruschetta, and stuffed mushrooms to the table.
“Considering you’ve missed most of them in the last decade, I don’t think you’re an authority in that arena.” Marlow scooped a few mushrooms onto her plate as she delivered the dig. She lifted her gaze to Holt. “What did you and Celia talk about at your Sunday dinners?”
Holt tensed beside me.Who is Celia? And why does she elicit this reaction from Holt?
“Marlow.” Mr. Dixon’s searing tone cut across the table. All movement ceased.
“Oh, he can bring up—” She swallowed hard, unable to finish her sentence.
“Tit for tat is not how this family operates,” their father scolded.
“No, we just go straight in for the kill.” Marlow held up her wineglass to a passing waitress.
“Actually, avoidance is what we do best.” Andrew dunked a mozzarella stick into marinara sauce.
“Enough,” Mr. Dixon admonished.
An uncomfortable silence enveloped the table. Trish and I exchanged helpless looks, uncertain what to do or say.
Holt drained his beer and immediately began to peel the edge of the label. He concentrated on the bottle and left his plate of appetizers untouched.
I moved my hand to his thigh before I thought better of it. It pained me to see him so upset, but I didn’t know if he wanted my comfort.
The remainderof the meal didn’t get any better. Awkward silence stifled my appetite. No one was really eating. Mostly we pushed food around on our plates. But I'd take that any day over no family dinner at all.
Mr. Dixon settled the bill and stood. “I want this stuff cleared up by next Sunday at dinner.”
Marlow tossed her napkin on the table. “I don’t know if we’re coming.”
Hurt flashed in her father’s eyes. He bent to pick up Blake and cradled him to his chest. Mr. Dixon simply nodded once.
“Why do you do that?” Holt glared at Marlow. “This is the only thing Dad wants from us and you can’t give him a couple hours of your time.”
“I’m not the one who ran away to Wyoming. You’re really not in a position to lecture me.” She slung her bag onto her shoulder.
