They’re Xs. All of them. I didn’t see Joiner, but Clare, Rivers, Blanchard, Janet Murrow.

They all live alone. They have no families left that I know of, no living children.

The last of their names. The Xs are safer.

Emerging from my fog, I realize that no one’s reaching for the bread or the salad, and Sally’s hand is resting, expectant, on the soup ladle.

They’re waiting for a speech.

Jo slips out of her seat and perches beside Charlie’s chair, pulling the children closer with warm whispers so they won’t interrupt me.

I rise, ignoring the sensation of standing in a plummeting elevator.

“All right,” I start, to myself. “A few words.”

I look up. They’re listening, even Hugh. Especially Hugh. I can’t look at him and get through this. He should be the one speaking tonight.

No. He shouldn’t. He should be upstairs sleeping. This is meant for me.

“I want to thank you for being here,” I say. “Not just here, in this house, at this dinner, but here on this island. Thank you for being here for Lute.”

I see nods around the table, sense everyone settling into their seats, approving.

“I haven’t prepared words today.” I glance apologetically at Jo, who shrugs, snorting. “And I think if I had, I would have tossed them out already. So many of you have told me I couldn’t understand this, couldn’t understand Lute until the end of the Day. And … well, I had no idea what you were talking about!”

They laugh, I laugh, all of us linked.

“The Day isn’t done, and I’m sure these words will feel inadequate as soon as the sun sets, but I wanted to tell you that I’m beginning to understand, more than Lute. Understand everything. The world beyond this, the agreement we’ve made by virtue of being alive.”

I feel dizzy. I lean on the table as Janet murmurs, “Yes, exactly that, yes,” which is reassuring because I’m not even totally sure what I mean. The words are just spilling out of me.

“Growing up, I never really understood what people meant when they talked about home. I never experienced home, as a child, as an adult. In fact, it’s only now, today, that I feel the word inside me, how it breathes around us. Home. We’re home.”

I motion at the room, at the gathering. They nod. There’s a humming of agreement, like a beehive.

“Home is a choice and sometimes a hard one. What you choose to accept. What you embrace. When I first moved here, I felt so welcome, more than I’d ever known to hope for.”

My eyes sting. Mary nods at me, encouraging, ever the teacher.