“Life is much too short to carry old misunderstandings into a new decade.”

My father sat next to her, clearing his throat twice before taking a small sip of ice water.

He checked his gold pocket watch, snapped the case shut, and set it on his cloth napkin.

“Your mother is right,” he said.

“We want this week to be clean.”

“Clean of what?” I asked.

Eleanor smiled, a soft, deliberate curve that didn’t reach her pale eyes.

“Of friction, dear.