After church they always went to Cushman’s, a restaurant that was a town institution. Mom and Dad went there as kids and so did their parents before them. The decor never changed, just became a little more worn and stained. There were brass sconces on the walls, oversized padded booths and tables set with pink linen cloths and napkins. A crew of ancient waitresses wearing pink dresses and frilly caps and aprons rushed around. The atmosphere was one of refined homeliness, with subdued voices and the gentle clatter of plates, and an unforgettable aroma of apple pie and strong-brewed coffee. Everybody went to Cushman’s for Sunday dinner after church.

Today, Dad headed the car right for the restaurant. It took Mom a moment to notice and then she said, “Oh, no, Carl, we aren’t going in there!”

“Don’t see why not,” he said, his jaw set.

“You can’t be serious,” Mom protested. “Not after all that.”

“I don’t think we should take that seriously, Liz. We have to act normal, do what we always do. Otherwise, this could escalate.”

“Dad’s right,” Jerram said. But Rose agreed with Mom. She had no desire to eat a Cushman’s Sunday Special. The thought of prime rib of beef with roasted whites or honey-baked ham with mashed sweets made her gag.

“I’m not going in,” she said as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Now, Rose,” Dad began. But there, going through the glass doors of the restaurant, were the Emersons and the Merleys. “Then again, maybe not.”

There was dead silence in the car as they got back on the road. Then Dad broke in with a voice determined to be jolly. “We’re not going to let this get to us, are we, troops?”

Nobody answered.

“Come on, come on. Are we going to take this lying down?”

Mom gave a weak laugh. “No, Carl, of course not.”

“I say we go get our Christmas tree right now,” Dad suggested. “Then we bring it home and set it up and spend the afternoon decorating.”

“But …” Mom began. The family tradition was to save the tree trimming until Christmas eve.

“And order in a pizza,” Dad said.

“Only if it’s pepperoni and mushroom,” Jerram said.

“Not pepperoni,” Mom protested. “Sausage, okay, but no pepperoni.”

“Sausage, mushroom and green peppers,” Jerram compromised.

Dad noticed Rose wasn’t talking. “What’s your choice, darlin’?”

“Sausage, mushroom, green peppers and anchovies.” She tried to get in the mood.

“Good girl,” Dad said.