Amelia
Richard had been quiet all day. Not distant, just locked down, like he was bracing for a blow he couldn’t stop. His jaw was tight. His sleeves were rolled up but untouched, like he’d prepared to get into the thick of something and then never moved.
“She said yes,” he told me.
“To dinner?”
He nodded once. “To trying.”
The dining room was staged like a fantasy. Silver gleamed. The green napkins were folded into little fans, a low floral arrangement curled down the center of the table like a spine. It looked like a moment worth remembering, but it already felt like one we’d regret.
Jenny arrived late, and not by accident. She made us wait. Her heels tapped out a slow rhythm across the floor. She was dressed for war, black blouse, sharp pants, eyes that didn’t soften when they lan
