I was already counting the minutes until I could take my son’s hand and walk out into the parking lot and drive us home.

And then his voice changed, sharpened, reached for a bigger laugh, and I felt the change before I understood the words, the way you feel a room tip toward you a half-second before the cruelty arrives.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, grinning out across the tables, “walking away from that mess was the best decision of my life.” The laughter that rolled through the room was easy and warm and it went through me like cold water.

Heads began, discreetly, to turn toward our table.

Beside me, Otis set down his fork.

“Sometimes,” Kingston went on, enjoying himself now, “you’ve got to clear out your old mistakes to make room for something worthy.” Ione laughed and leaned her head against his shoulder.