Sara broke the silence. “Tom Turkey needs another twenty minutes. Let’s put him back in.”
Marcus covered the steaming bird and lifted the roaster once more.
“Need a hand?” David asked. He stepped over and leaned close.
“I think we got it,” Marcus replied.
They got the oven closed, their faces pink from the heat.
“It smells great, Mom,” David said.
“Thank you, hon. Why don’t you men get out of here now? I need to work alone.”
“I can finish the salad,” Marcus offered but he leaned away from the countertop. He rolled a r****h under one finger, moving it back and forth.
“No, that’s fine,” Sara said. The kitchen felt too small suddenly, as if the room had turned into a spaceship and the atmosphere was thin, precious. “Where’s Katie?”
“She wanted to check her email. I set her up in the
