I’m terrified to look at him, but when I do, I find nothing sinister in his smile. He’s sleepy, a smidge sheepish. Maybe the door didn’t lock after all.

I feel a wash of relief, but in its wake comes fresh unease. He looks so serene it scares me, and putting on a tuxedo for this dinner is a hell of a choice.

“Happy anniversary,” I answer.

I lean down to kiss him, buffeted by coos of aw from all the sweet old ladies, avert my eyes from Matthew, and continue down the room to assume my own head seat, miles away at the far end of the table. There’s a seat with a booster cushion next to me, and Emma clambers blithely onto it, utterly nonplussed by the fact that we’re about to have the entire island’s current population seated in motley chairs around the formal table, the one we’ve never, ever used. Charlie’s eyes are saucers as he sits to my right, taking everyone in, slowly, individually. I could swear he’s doing what I did as I watched everyone come in—committing them to memory.

Once everyone is settled, more offerings begin to emerge, mostly of the alcoholic variety. I see Tempranillo and Sancerre and Bordeaux, cherished imports, so rare for the past three years. They’ve saved them for today.

There are wineglasses on the table, ready. I push mine out of range of Emma’s chubby grip, trying my best not to picture them shattered, weaponized, embedded in skin.

Hugh accepts his glass of red, filled nearly to the brim, and drinks from it deeply. I hope he doesn’t pass out again at the table. Not much I can do to prevent it.

“Ladies and gents, I bring you…” Sally lumbers in carrying an enormous tureen to a smattering of delighted applause. “Soup! The safest option!”

As laughter rolls across the table, I think of a book I read when I was little, soldiers making stone soup for a village in a time of war, everyone adding one ingredient until all were united in fellowship. Soup was a perfect choice today.

“It’s puréed to within an inch of its life, I’ll have you know,” Sally announces, setting it down in the center of the table, “but dine carefully nonetheless! Take extra care with the bread. I’ve got another batch of everything ready, so don’t you worry. And for those brave or reckless or last standing among us, I have also prepared a salad.”

Lannie Joiner raises his glass with an “Eh-oh!” and a few others around the table echo the gesture. Someone elbows Matthew, and he lifts his glass, not mustering as much of a smile as the others.

Last standing. I heard someone say that before. Lannie, at the pub. Matty must have something in common with him, with all the people raising their glasses.