“Because it’s so boring,” I say, but I’m secretly exulting. You don’t know everything about me. I’ve achieved things. Both good and bad.

“Speaking of philosophy,” Jo cuts in, a note of apology in her voice. “Typically, the lord gives an address to open the meal on the day of the tithe.”

“There needs to be an instruction booklet for moving to this place,” I huff. “An orientation, I swear.”

Sally laughs. “You’re a bit past the orientation period, my dear.”

The children have begun to squabble over the Band-Aids.

I pull the box away from them and set it onto the counter behind me. “So tell me, just lay it all out for complete novices, what are all the traditions today? What do I need to do from now until, I don’t know, bedtime?”

Sally and Jo glance at each other as I turn for the crafts bin, laying out paper and crayons for the children. The next activity, then the next and the next until bedtime. I really like the idea of bedtime.

“Well,” Sally says. “You might let Hugh know—”

“Hugh is not going to be in any state to do anything today.”

My shoulders loosen at having said it. It’s embarrassing, but it’s not my shame to bury anymore. His choices are his own.

I scoot Emma’s chair far enough away from Charlie that he can’t swat at her.

“He’s not handling it well,” I say, avoiding eye contact. “He’ll be fine tomorrow, apart from the headache, but anything that needs doing is going to fall to me. Which is fine.”

I look up.

Jo smiles faintly at Sally. Nods at me. “Good. Right. It’s not much. Just keep an eye on everybody throughout the Day and say a few words at the beginning of the meal. Welcome everyone in a way that makes them feel…”

She tenses, hunting for the word.

“Welcomed,” I offer.

“Safe. As mad as it sounds.”

“No. No, that makes sense.” That’s what anybody sane would want to feel. I blink, looking around. Speaking of safe: “Where’s Marit?”

“In the garden,” Sally says, turning down the fire under the pot. “She needed some alone time. Without us hovering.”

“Right. I’ll check on her in a little while. Do you think Matthew will come tonight?” My heart beats a little faster. “Speaking of alone time. I’m not sure what he needs.”

“He’d better come,” Jo says darkly. “I said if he didn’t, I’d march up to that lighthouse and mess with all his dials and wires and drag him back here at great personal peril, busted ankle and all. And he knows I will, so I expect he’ll listen.”

I smile, picturing the possibility only too vividly, and sip my tea, warm currents running through me.

When I look up, Jo’s watching me.