Natasha winked at me and smiled at her husband when he complained about napkins missing from the paper bag. “Of course, I understand. We'll figure it out on Friday when we meet with the surgeon. I'm hardly ready to do much. It's only been ten weeks, and I'm not strong enough to undergo anything radical until the six-month mark. We have time to decide on the best approach.”
While nibbling on our meal, I casually mentioned the incident at the art exhibition. “You went to high school with Cain, if I remember correctly, Hampton.”
Hampton verified they had graduated the same year. “Poor guy. You just missed him.”
Natasha reached for the bottle of water but struggled to stretch her fingers far enough across the table. When Hampton rose from his chair to assist, she cautioned him. “I can do it
