The week before the dinner moved quickly.
Not because it was busy in the way that complicated weeks are busy, full of things demanding immediate attention and decisions that could not wait. It was busy in the quieter way of a week that is full of small preparations, each one simple on its own and significant in accumulation.
Monday I called Clara Marsh.
She answered on the second ring and her voice had a quality it had not had the first time we spoke. Lighter. The specific lightness of someone who has set something down and is still adjusting to the feeling of empty hands.
I said: I want to invite you to dinner. Next Saturday. Our home. A small group of people who are connected to this story in ways that matter.
She said: I read your statement again last week. The one from the beginni
