The next Thanksgiving, the house on Oak Hollow Drive was full again.

There were no elaborate rules about where dishes belonged or how early anyone had to rise.

My mother had invited Denise, Ellen, Moreno, a few neighbors, and two young veterans whose homes the repair group had helped that year.

I arrived late because of weather delays.

By the time I reached the porch, the windows glowed with warm light and laughter rolled out through the screen door.

For a moment I stood where I’d stood the night I left with Ruth, remembering the cold knot in my stomach and Wendell’s demand that she stay.