"Are you going to eat that?"
Mia looked up at me across the dinner table and spoke in a little, almost hesitant voice. She fumbled with the edge of her napkin, her dish half-finished, the food unfinished. I briefly believed that she might be putting me to the test to see how I would react to something as basic as food.
I looked back at her after taking a quick look at the piece of chicken that was still on my plate. I answered, "Yeah, I guess so," in a softer tone than I intended.
Although she didn't smile, I could detect a gleam of optimism that she might be able to get through to me in her eyes. Feeling the weight of the stillness that had hung over us since supper began, I pushed the final piece into my mouth and reclined in my chair.
Mike was remarkably silent tonight, absorbed in
