When I arrive to my parents’ house at 7pm on the dot, Davis opens the door, with time wearing a look of weariness.
“This time you parents and Miss Thea are waiting in the dining room,” he tells me.
Thea is here? Maybe my suspicions are correct.
But already sitting in the dining room?
I check my watch. It says 7, and matches the clock that is up on the wall.
“Am I late?” I ask him.
“They asked for dinner to be served directly at 7,” Davis says. “Would you like me to show you the way?”
“I can find it,” I say. “Thanks, though.”
I leave my purse and jacket with Davis and then hurry to the dining room.
Father sits at his usual spot at the head of the table. Mom is beside him with Thea opposite her. Only the salad has been served thus far, though no one seems to be eating it. Only Thea
