A tiny sound.
“After your dad,” Amanda told him.
He looked at her.
“Maybe.”
His voice wasn’t right.
Amanda didn’t notice.
I did.
Andrew hadn’t touched his food.
His napkin was twisted tightly between his hands.
“Andrew?”
He looked at me.
“Are you all right?”
“Just overwhelmed, Christie.”
He smiled.
It didn’t last.
After everything Amanda had survived, I understood being overwhelmed.
I understood fear too.
And the look on Andrew’s face was fear.
Later, Amanda and Robin argued cheerfully in the living room about whether a baby needed shoes before it could walk.
I carried plates into the kitchen.
Andrew followed.
He set two glasses beside the sink.
Then he caught my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop me.
“Christie.”
“Yes?”
“We need to talk.” He looked toward the living room. “Nobody can hear us.”
The plate in my hand suddenly felt too heavy.
