Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two
Gerald looked around table one.
Richard Hail sat still, both hands on the table, his coat where he had left it.
Margaret put her napkin over her plate.
“Gerald,” she said.
“People are watching.”
“They’ve been watching all night,” Clare said.
She held up the first envelope.
The faded stamp showed a row of small airplanes.
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