Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two

“This one is postmarked twelve years ago,” Clare said.

“It came to the house on Main Street.

You signed for it.”

Gerald’s gold signet ring tapped once against the base of his glass.

“You told me she threw away my photographs,” Clare said.

“You told the whole town she cut us off.

You kept her letters in a drawer.”

I set my napkin beside my plate and did not stand.