“Here’s why I want to do it,” Taylor had said. “This has been one of the best days I’ve had in a lot of years, and I can’t help but be proud of sitting at your table again. Is it all right?”

“Yes,” Eleanor had said quietly.

“We don’t even have to bow our heads for this one,” Taylor had added, “but we got to take hands. Granny Cunningham, too.”

“She’s not at the table,” Eleanor had said.

“That’s all right,” Taylor had replied. “Let’s all just stand around her.”

They had formed a circle of hand-holding around Beatrice Cunningham’s rocking chair. The old woman had gazed dumbly at them, making a frown that seemed to ask why Taylor and Noah were holding her hands, unless they were trying to pull her up from her chair.

“Lord,” Taylor had begun in a deliberate drawl, his eyes wandering comically to the ceiling, “here we are, about to have some catfish, which is one of the better objects of your whole creation, if you don’t mind my saying so—especially when there’s some hush puppies made with onions to go along with them.

“It’s kind of a strange group you’ve got here, Lord, as you surely know. You’ve got Eleanor Cunningham, who’s a good, paying-on-time customer of mine, and a refined lady who reads a lot of books. And then there’s Granny Cunningham, who don’t really know what’s going on, but she’s a grand lady from all I’ve ever heard, and I know you’re the one who keeps her happy. And then there’s Noah Locke, who’s likely to lie before the supper’s over about catching more of these fish than I did, but I forgive him for that, Lord, and I hope you do, too. I can say he’s a fine worker with a paintbrush in his hand, even if he does talk too much. And, of course, there’s me, who’s always been some trouble to you, I suppose, but who’s truly grateful to be in this fine company close to this loaded-down table, especially since you and I both know I’d planned on having another bologna sandwich for supper. It just goes to show how lucky I am.

“The fact is, Lord, we’re all lucky. Every one of us gathered here. We’ve got more catfish than we can eat, hush puppies, green beans, squash, corn on the cob, ice tea, and, unless my smell has left me, a peach pie warming in the oven. That’s something. “So, Lord, we’d all appreciate it if you’d sort of give us your blessing and loosen up our tongues so we can talk about everybody we know who’s not here, and forgive us beforehand for what we’ll be saying about them. Amen.”

Eleanor had smiled.

Taylor had said, “Now that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No,” Eleanor had answered.

Marvin Linquist, Noah had thought.

Eleanor was not sure if it was God or Taylor who loosened the tongues. God through Taylor she decided, since it was Taylor who started the talk and kept it going in a manner that was lively and fun. Watching him, she was amused by the way he had settled in at the table, rooted into his chair, keeping the food circling. It was as though he belonged to the table and to the house, and she knew he was making his pitch to her, saying it was time for her to put aside her grief and to step back into the world.