Chapter 16
When Evan was nine, we attended a Bennett reunion.
His choice.
Diane was seventy.
Older.
Quieter.
Still capable of criticizing tablecloths with lethal precision.
Evan loved her now in a way I had not expected.
Not blindly.
He knew she had hurt him.
He also knew she had changed enough to be safe around him.
Both.
At dinner, a platter of chicken came around.
Evan reached.
Nobody laughed.
Nobody watched.
He took what he wanted.
Then passed the plate.
Diane noticed me noticing.
She raised one eyebrow.
I smiled.
No need to turn every corrected moment into ceremony.
Afterward Evan asked:
“Why do you and Grandma look weird every time there’s chicken?”
Apparently we were less subtle than imagined.
“Long story.”
“I know the story.”
“Then why ask?”
He grinned.
Because he enjoyed making us uncomfortable.
May you like
Daniel’s son.
Absolutely.
