Chapter 10 - An Extra Chair at the Table
By eight-thirty, the Ellison dining room was loud with laughter, clinking glasses, and the scrape of silver-plated serving spoons from 1987.
The turkey was carved, juicy and golden despite the afternoon chaos. A fresh pot of green beans had been pulled from the pantry, swimming in butter and bacon bits. Toby sat beside Graham, completely fascinated by the pale scar beside Graham’s brow, asking sixty questions about aircraft carriers while Graham patiently cut the boy’s meat into bite-sized pieces.
At the head of the table, Arthur sat with his back straight. For the first time in thirty years, the tension around his eyes had smoothed away. He poured cider for the children and dark red wine for the adults.
Elaine brought out the pecan pie, setting it squarely in front of Graham with a massive dollop of fresh whipped cream.
“If you don't finish that,” Elaine warned with mock severity, “you’re washing dishes until New Year’s Eve.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Graham smiled, saluting her with his fork.
Mara leaned back in her chair, watching the room glow under the soft amber light of the chandelier. The blizzard continued to rattle the storm windows outside, but inside, the snow seemed entirely fictional.
Owen clinked his glass with a butter knife.
“A toast,” Owen announced, raising his glass high. “To Mara’s terrible habit of picking up suspicious strangers at bakeries.”
Everyone laughed, raising their glasses into the center of the table.
“And,” Owen added, his voice turning warm and sincere, looking across the table at the man who had shared his childhood bedroom, “to the eighth chair at this table. It stayed empty for way too long.”
“Hear, hear,” Arthur echoed, his voice thick with gratitude as he touched his glass to Graham’s.
After dinner, when the children were fast asleep upstairs and the dishes were stacked clean in the drying rack, Graham stood by the wide front window of the living room, watching the streetlights illuminate the fresh snow on the lawn.
Mara walked over, holding two steaming mugs of black coffee. She handed one to him.
“How are your terms holding up?” she asked, nudging his shoulder gently.
Graham looked down at his mug, then out at his rental car, which had disappeared entirely beneath a three-foot snowdrift by the curb.
“I believe the terms have been renegotiated,” Graham replied, that familiar, rusty amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Oh? What are the new terms?”
Graham took a slow sip of the coffee, looking back at Arthur and Elaine sitting together on the couch, laughing over an old family album.
“I’m staying through New Year’s,” Graham said softly. “Someone has to help your father shovel the driveway. And judging by that ladder in the shop, he can’t be trusted with electrical tape.”
Mara laughed, leaning against the window frame beside him as the snow fell softly over the sleeping town.
May you like
The stranger from the bakery was gone.
The brother had finally come home.
