Dinner appeared on the hewn-log dining table as though prepared by magic while Amy took a long, hot cedar-scented shower. She wasn’t sure when the dinner had been cooked or how it ended up on the table. Eliza was the perfect hostess and Amy felt she was the slack guest as she appeared from the back hall, clean and dressed in a pair of old jeans and a white T-shirt—her official at-home apparel. She glanced around the table. Everyone except Nick was there, staring at her, obviously waiting. She was fully clothed, yet felt completely naked.

“Oh, my. Dinner is ready. I would’ve helped.” She reached up to the base of her neck.

Eliza motioned for her to come to the table. “You feeling okay, Amy?”

“Great, just great. Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Not at all.” Nick appeared from the kitchen. “I believe they’re waiting for me—late as usual.”

Amy wanted to hug him. She walked toward the table and stood where Eliza pointed: between her children, across from Phil. Nick and Eliza stood at the head and foot of the table; bowls of steaming food were scattered across like pebbles. Large, slate-colored plates sat next to silverware decorated with deer antler handles; burning bark-covered candles looked as though they had been carved from small tree trunks. Black-eyed Susans filled a blue vase in the center of the table.

Amy sighed. “This is all so nice. The food looks delicious. I really am sorry I didn’t help.”

Eliza reached her hand behind Jack, touched Amy’s arm. “We wanted to give you some time to . . . we were worried you might be a little shaken up.”

“Well, I was fine,” she said.

Eliza tucked a strand of hair into her ponytail. She was “dressed” for dinner: gray cotton slacks with a pale blue linen blouse that closed down the front with small pearl buttons. Amy fingered the bottom of her T-shirt, tried to smile. She was disoriented.

Phil added to the humiliation. “You still look a little pale.”

“Why, thanks, honey. I was hoping I looked pale.” Amy glanced around the table; seven sets of eyes stared at her. Her skin prickled with the peeled-off feeling Nick used to give her.

“Look, I just got scared for a minute there. It’s my daughter. I’m not used to Jet Skis and—”

Nick spoke up, turned the faces from her to him. “Let’s eat. Can’t let all this good-looking food go to waste now.”

Molly grabbed Amy’s hand. “Mom, I’m so fine. Really.” She placed her elbow in Amy’s hand, moved it back and forth. “See?”

“Yes, I see.” She kissed her daughter’s elbow, kissed her cheek. “Let’s eat. I’m starving,” she lied.

Chairs scraped across the pine floors as the group sat in unison—orchestrated seating. Amy thought now would be a good time to scream; instead she sat and smiled.