Eliza looked around the table. “Phil, you’re our guest. Would you please bless the food?”

Amy glanced at Phil; he didn’t like doing this in public. Praying at home, at their scarred table, was great, but he considered it an act of showmanship elsewhere. Still, he bowed his head and offered a simple prayer of thanks for family, friends and food.

Eliza lifted her head. “Thank you, Phil. Let’s move the food clockwise.”

Amy suppressed a “Yes, ma’am,” and lifted the bowl of okra in front of her. The evening began to unfold as conversation swirled and laughter began to fill the cracks of unease. The red wine Amy drank came from a crystal goblet that never seemed to empty as the kids told stories about their friends, about escapades in college.

Jack told the story of his friend Billy, who’d jumped off the ledge at the rock quarry into the water below and broke his wrist.

Eliza interrupted. “He’s lucky that’s all he broke.”

“Yes, ma’am, he is. But guys jump off that rock all the time and don’t get hurt. It depends on how you hold your hand or your arms,” Jack said, demonstrating with his arms held straight down at his sides.

Eliza held her fork, full of pork tenderloin, in the air. “How high is it?” She placed her fork down on the plate.

“I’m not exactly sure.” Jack turned to Lisbeth. “Do you know?”

“Forty-five, fifty feet, something like that.”

Eliza looked at her daughter with a glance that would have shriveled Amy’s own soul, but Lisbeth must have been used to it, because she didn’t flinch at her mother’s question.

“You’ve never jumped off it, have you, honey?” Eliza said.

“I’m a scaredy-cat, but Jack did.” Lisbeth touched Jack’s shoulder.

Jack gave Lisbeth a playful punch on the arm. “Thanks, babe.”

“You jumped off that, young man?” Eliza’s tone held obvious concern for her daughter’s future.

“Yes, ma’am, once.”

“He was perfectly safe, Mother. Really. He knew what he was doing.”

“People break their backs, or their necks, jumping off that thing.” Eliza looked at Nick. “I remember reading about some guy at Saxton when I was in college—he jumped and broke his back or something terrible like that.”

“That was Jim Foley,” Nick said. “But he was—what? One guy in thirty years? He was a great guy. He just overestimated his ability—tried some crazy stunt off the highest rock.”

“Well, I do not want our children jumping off that thing.”

Alex rolled his eyes, popped okra in his mouth with a flick of his finger.

“Use your fork,” Eliza said, without looking up or changing her expression. Did she even know she’d said it?

“Dad.” Alex swallowed and leaned down the table toward Nick. “I bet you jumped off it when you were at school, didn’t ya?”