David was sitting on the rug by the coffee table with his big hands resting flat on his knees while Bennett showed him a wooden board game.

“Mom, Dad brought the red game pieces from his house,” Bennett said, pointing at the board spread out on the carpet.

“So I see,” I said, putting my leather briefcase down on the hall table.

David glanced up at me, his face calm and unhurried.

“He ate every bit of his dinner,” David said.

“Grace made chicken stew.”

“Thanks, David,” I said.

“Evelyn called my cell an hour ago,” David said, getting up off the floor and wiping his hands on his jeans.