“We’re going home to Evan,” I said.

I carried Lucy past Caroline and into the dining room.

The long oak table was spread with Margaret’s white china plates, crystal water goblets, and silver serving platters.

A platter of cold ham sat near the centerpiece, ringed by little porcelain dishes of cranberry relish and dinner rolls.

Caroline’s husband Frank sat at the far end of the table, his arms resting flat on the white tablecloth.

He held his fork two inches above his plate, staring down at his untouched slice of meat.