“You kept the table,” she said.
“Of course I kept the table.”
Michelle kept her hand on the table, tracing the old burn mark with her thumb.
“I remember this,” she whispered. “I was eleven. I tried to make grilled cheese while you were hanging laundry outside, and I put the pan down right here.”
“You nearly burned the house down,” I said.
“I burned two sandwiches.”
“And the dish towel.”
“And the dish towel,” she admitted.
For the first time since she had walked through my door, she smiled without forcing it.
Then the smile disappeared.
“I thought you would bring everything to our house,” she said. “I thought you would come downstairs, settle in, and we would figure the rest out as we went.”
I turned off the stove and moved the potatoes into a serving dish.
“Michelle, you had already figured it out. You and Todd had a number on paper.”
