“I know that.” She slid out of the booth.

“He had eleven signatures on that page, Diana.

I read it upside down while he was talking to the preacher.”

She left her coffee half full and walked out the side door into the parking lot.

Eleven.

I sat with the plate in the middle of the table until the waitress asked if I wanted it boxed up.

The living room at Birwood Lane was dark when I came downstairs at nine, and I didn’t reach for the lamp.

The sideboard showed four clean rectangles where the tray and the tea set had sat since before I was born.