Sonya had an extremely deep voice. And when she rolled the prime rib over to slice it for them she displayed skills that were magician-worthy. In fact, she put on quite a show with the carving knife, tossing it up in the air and twirling it four times in between each slice, which in itself was terrifying. Tess decided Sonya could probably hit anything if she aimed for it.

Tess resolved to be extra polite to Sonya and to keep her distance, too. But when she asked whether she might have honey with her Yorkshire pudding, Sonya laughed so heartily, and suggested butter as well, that Tess decided maybe she liked Sonya, too.

Tess kept glancing at the table behind Aunt Evie. Nothing. Just a white tablecloth and nobody there.

“The person who used to be Max” ate very little. Tess decided not to assess whether “Max” used more horseradish than usual on his prime rib, except he did. They split a prime rib dinner, as they always had. And split a baked potato. Tess couldn’t help but notice that “the person who used to be Max” did not put chives on his baked potato or load it up with sour cream the way Max always had. Aunt Evie noticed it, too, and asked him if he was on a diet. But “Max” answered, “No, just feeling a little woozy, I’m not sure why.” That sounded like Max.

Tess glanced over at the other table again which was suddenly set for four. It was so odd. Tess hadn’t seen anyone come to set it. Maybe she’d been paying attention to Sonya’s spinning knife show.

There was a lit candelabra in the center of the table, with six elegant candlesticks, ivory-colored, the flames burning faintly, casting an old-fashioned glow. There were two crystal champagne glasses at two of the settings and two matching crystal tumblers, the shape of a glass for water or juice, at the other two. Silver forks, a knife, and a spoon at each place setting.

Inadvertently, Tess put her hand in her pocket and found the glass marble and held on to it. For a moment, Tess was sure she saw four people sitting there, a well-dressed woman who looked a lot like Colin’s mother, a well-dressed gentleman who might in fact be his father, a young girl who looked like Elizabeth, Colin’s eight-year-old sister, and a boy who definitely looked like Colin, all delicately eating triangles of toast which seemed to be topped by thinly sliced smoked salmon. The woman tousled Colin’s head, the way their mom used to sometimes with Max right before she sent him off to school.