If someone doesn’t intervene, someone is going to say or do something so below the belt, they’ll regret it forever. Grace intervened. “Anyone want a cup of coffee? Cake in the kitchen, anyone?”

No one moved. Then Hannah led Sarina from the room, and the others followed, crowding into the kitchen and leaving Zachary alone in the chair by the window.

The baby awakened and fussed. Immediately, Sarina brushed away tears and took the infant from Miriam, who had been holding her. “I’ll take her upstairs and nurse her.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Hannah said. “You can nurse her here.”

“It’s better I go upstairs,” Sarina said. “I need to be alone and calm myself.”

Max broke the silence in the kitchen. “That was quite an exhibition. I apologize for my son. His mother must be turning over in her grave.”

“You don’t own his behavior,” Hannah said. “He needs a therapist before he really goes off the deep end.”

“I agree with Hannah. The boy’s deeply troubled,” Bob said.

“How do you make someone go for therapy?” Amelia asked.

No one replied.

Max’s face was grim. “In a small town like Covington, we need one another. Zachary knows that. How many times has he seen me plow Frank and Charlie’s driveways after a major snowstorm? How many times has Frank been over, any time of the day or night, to fix plumbing in the dairy or the house? If there’s a barn to build, we help one another. If someone’s ill, we pitch in and get the chores done.

“Charlie’s been my friend from my earliest days in Covington. It was Velma’s kindness that helped persuade Bella to stay in Covington, when all she wanted was to run back to Atlanta. Velma, bless her, was Bella’s friend. She visited Bella frequently during her illness.” He brought his fist down on the kitchen table. “Zachary’s behavior is unwarranted and unacceptable.”

They ate then, trying to comfort themselves with cake and coffee or tea. Suddenly, a heavy thud and the sound of a pot shattering came from the foyer, accompanied by a shout for help.

27

When Will It End?

Zachary was sprawled across the foyer, eyes closed, a leg twisted, an arm outstretched, the other at an odd angle.

Max kneeled beside his son. “Hannah, call nine-one-one.”

Hannah picked up the phone in the kitchen.

Sarina started down the stairs. She handed the baby to Miriam and kneeled beside her husband. “Zachary, speak to me. Are you hurt? Talk to me.” She clutched her father-in-law’s arm and shook it. “Max, he won’t open his eyes.” Her voice rose. “Is he dead? Tell me, is he dead.”