A Place at the Table

In the first photograph, Amelia was holding a newborn Lily with one hand and eating a bagel with the other.

"You took that?" Lily asked.

Nathaniel settled the album across their knees.

"She told me she'd divorce me if I showed anyone."

Lily studied the photograph seriously.

"You should have brought her a plate."

He laughed before he could help it.

It felt strange to laugh with Amelia looking back at him. Stranger still to find that it did not make him miss her less.

They stayed up past Lily's bedtime. She wanted to know why her mother wore yellow boots in one picture and whether the cake in another really tasted as bad as it looked.

For once, Nathaniel answered the questions she asked instead of searching for a way to make them stop hurting.

The following weeks rearranged the house in small, inconvenient ways.

Lily wanted breakfast in the kitchen some mornings. The kitchen table was the wrong height, so Nathaniel asked Mrs. Bell to help find one she could use comfortably. It replaced a decorative table nobody had eaten at in twenty years.

He learned that Lily hated the embroidered cushion on her chair. Charles had ordered it to match the drawing room. Lily wanted blue fabric with stars.

"You could have told me," Nathaniel said.

She gave him a look over her cereal.

He called the upholsterer himself.

Claire introduced them to Audrey Foster, a physical therapist accustomed to working with children whose recovery had become tangled with frightening memories. Other support was arranged too, with Lily included in the discussions instead of waiting outside them.

Audrey's first appointment involved no standing at all. She asked Lily to show her how fast she could turn her chair without hitting the furniture.

"Are you testing me?" Lily asked.

"Mostly I'm checking whether my shoes are in danger."

By the end, Lily had beaten Nathaniel through a narrow course of cushions. He had clipped the same chair leg twice.

Noah visited three afternoons a week when Rachel's schedule allowed. Sometimes they drew. Sometimes they argued. Once Lily announced that he was never coming back because he had told her the ending of a book.

He returned the next afternoon with a different book and a folded note that said he was sorry, but the dragon had obviously been suspicious.

Rachel still worked temporary shifts in the kitchen. One Friday, Nathaniel found her at the stove while the regular cook argued with a broken oven.

She moved three pans off the heat, sent an assistant for fresh cream, and saved dinner without raising her voice.

Afterward, he asked whether she would consider a permanent position running the kitchen schedule and helping oversee meals.

She put down her towel.

"Is this because of Noah?"

"It's because Mrs. Bell says she spends half her week hoping you're available."

"I'd want to see the hours and the pay."

"Of course."

"And visits with Lily stay separate. If this job doesn't work out, you don't get to tell him he can't see her."

Nathaniel leaned against the counter.

"That seems fair."

Rachel read the offer twice, asked for an adjustment to the school pickup hours, and accepted.

By autumn, the Bennetts had rented a small place in the nearby village. Noah started at the local elementary school with a backpack Lily had helped him choose. He vetoed the one covered in stars because she already had enough stars for both of them.

For a week, he came home with stories about being recognized as the boy from the party.

Then, one Thursday, he arrived at Whitmore House with a split lip.

Rachel was called out of the kitchen. Nathaniel heard only the first part of her conversation with the school before she took it into the pantry.

Noah waited beside the back door, refusing the ice Mrs. Bell offered.

Later, Nathaniel found him behind the empty stables, pulling leaves off a stalk.

"Your mother knows you're here?"

"She said I could sit outside."

Nathaniel sat on an overturned bucket. His knees objected.

Noah looked at his shoes.

"Are you going to tell me I should have walked away?"

"Would you listen if I did?"

"Probably not."

"Then tell me what happened."

Noah stripped another leaf.

"A kid named Mason said my dad was a thief."

Nathaniel waited.

"I said I knew. He said I'd grow up like him. Then I punched him."

"And he hit you back?"

Noah touched his lip.

"He pushed me into a desk."

The stalk bent between his fingers.

"Dad used to get mad when people laughed at him. I remember Mom telling me to stay in my room."

Nathaniel looked toward the back of the house. Through a kitchen window, he could see Rachel standing with a hand pressed to her forehead.

"I used to think he was brave," Noah said.

"And now?"

"Now I think maybe he was scared."

He dropped the stalk.

"I was scared too. I thought if I didn't do anything, everybody would believe Mason."

Nathaniel rested his elbows on his knees.

"When I was frightened about Lily, I kept making rules. The more frightened I got, the more rules there were."

"That's different."

"It is. But I understand wanting to stop a feeling so badly you do something that makes things worse."

Noah was quiet for a while.

"Mason's nose was bleeding."

"That must have scared you too."

He nodded.

"Your mom will help you work out what happens next. You should tell her this part."

Noah rubbed his face on his sleeve.

"She already knows I'm stupid."

"She's in there wondering how much you're hurting."

The boy looked toward the window.

Rachel saw them. She opened the back door but did not call out.

Noah stood, then stopped.

"Lily hates when people hit each other."

Nathaniel rose more slowly.

"You can tell her what happened."

Noah shook his head. For the first time that afternoon, he looked his age.

"What if she doesn't want me to come back?"