I called Graham.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
“It’s fixable,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Celia, I’ve seen kitchen tables survive three toddlers and a Labrador. Your bench isn’t finished.”
He worked all afternoon.
I sat nearby, pretending to read a magazine.
When he finished, the oak looked beautiful again.
I touched the smooth surface.
“Dad would’ve liked that.”
Graham smiled.
“Good.”
The clouds turned greenish-gray while he was packing up.
We went inside for coffee.
Then lightning cracked above the roof.
A massive oak limb came crashing down across my driveway, blocking Graham’s truck.
Rain pounded the windows.
Neither of us was going anywhere.
I checked the basement while Graham inspected the back door.
When we finally sat down, I had two mugs of coffee, a terrible headache, and a secret I’d been carrying for weeks.
Then my phone vibrated.
Paige.
Last chance, Mom. Sign the papers before Friday. Or I’ll tell everyone about the baby.
