“I've known her longer than you have,” Daniel said to Bev. “I'm not saying that means I know more.”
Bev lifted her glass toward him. He smiled and turned back to Mara.
“She was like this when she was little. If someone came to the house, she'd bring another cup. Nobody had asked for tea. Nobody had boiled the kettle. There'd be a cup, and you'd have to do something about it.”
Iris laughed. Mara looked down at her own cup, nearly empty, the rim marked where she'd put her mouth. Her brother knew how to tell this story. Their mother had told it first, a child imitating the preparations that meant people would stay.
“I used to complain,” he said. “She'd tell me who needed picking up, who had to be called. She still does. I complain now.”
“We know,” Leo said softly.
Daniel heard him and grinned. The room relaxed around the sound. Mara could feel her face warming, the old pleasure of being described by somebody who loved her enough to find an irritating habit worth keeping.
“But you look around,” Daniel continued, “and here you all are. People who've worked with her for years. The children. The new ones. My boy. Her girl.”
He glanced toward Iris, who smiled at him. Nell had set her fork down to listen.
“A lot's going to change for these women. Houses and jobs, where they go, what they have time for. It should. They've earned something good. I hope they enjoy every bit of it.”
Bev nodded. Priya's face softened. Daniel held up his glass.
“But when we've all got our different places, I know who'll still get the phone out. She'll ask again. Get the five back around a table. The rest of us too. She's been doing it all her life.”
He looked at Mara with his easy, expectant smile.
“You'll keep doing that, won't you? We count on it.”
The room was looking at her. It was a good thing to be asked, a loving thing. There was nothing in it a person could point to and say he had done something cruel. He had come, worn her mending, brought the bread. She had promised him a few hours.
Mara could hear somebody moving a glass across the table. She looked toward the door, though Elena had told her she would not come and Mara knew she would not. The glass stopped moving.
“I can't promise you that,” she said.
Daniel smiled a little wider, waiting for the rest of the joke.
“You'll get a break first.”
“No. I mean I can't do it for them.”
His smile began to go. Mara saw it happen and nearly reached for the little laugh that could put it back.
“Of course you can't make people,” he said. “I'm just saying—”
“I know.”
She could say she'd try. The words were there, as easy as offering the bread. She could sit beside him, finish her coffee, take the bag over afterward. Elena wouldn't even have to hear about the toast.
Bev was watching her. Not accusing her. Waiting with her glass up, as she'd waited on Sunday for Mara to say who was in. Mara looked away first. She wanted the glass lifted for her. She wanted Iris laughing, her brother still pleased with the child who'd carried cups, all of it kept exactly as it was. Her mouth had already begun the smile that would let her have it.
She put a hand over her mouth. Took it away. There was no laugh in her now, only a sudden, sick anger at how easily she could sit here and be loved for something she hadn't done.
She pushed her chair back. One leg caught against the uneven place in the carpet. The chair made a noise, then stopped. She remained half standing for a moment, holding its back, before she could straighten.
“I didn't keep the five together,” she said. “On Saturday, before we bought it, I gave Elena her money back.”
Simon looked toward Bev. Bev kept her eyes on Mara. Anne's glass settled slowly onto the table.
“We had an argument,” Mara said. “She'd told me she wanted to leave Dan. Before there was any money. I told him about it when she hadn't asked me to. Then I got angry with her for not wanting what I thought she ought to want.”
“Mara.”
Daniel had lowered his glass. She had heard that version of her name all her life, a warning given by somebody who still expected her to stop in time.
“I told her she was out. She took the two dollars. I bought four plays. I told you on Sunday she was included. I didn't tell you that part.”
He looked at her for a long moment, not understanding what he was being given.
“This isn't the time.”
“I know.”
“Then sit down.”
Mara looked at the place beside him. Her napkin lay on the seat. It was still possible to sit. Somebody could make a joke, Simon could ask about coffee, and the room would let her because almost everybody in it wanted to be kind.
She kept hold of the chair.
“I told her I'd help her go. Then I called you to come back. You hadn't asked me to. I made it into something we could sort out between us.”
Daniel's face had gone very still. Leo was looking at the table. Iris looked from Mara to her uncle, then away toward the window.
“You promised,” Daniel said.
It was quiet enough that only the nearest people could hear. Mara nodded. She had no smaller version of the promise to offer him.
“I'm sorry.”
He put his glass on the table. The bottom touched the wood twice, a small hard sound as he steadied it.
“Why are you doing this here?”
She could have said she had to tell the truth. He knew much of the truth already. She could have said it was for Elena, who had asked for no speech and was in her own room, waiting for a bag. Behind her, one of the kitchen staff came through carrying the coffee pot, slowed and looked toward Simon.
“I liked it,” Mara said.
He stared at her.
“What you were saying. I was sitting here taking the credit. I was going to let you all—”
She stopped. The coffee woman was still standing behind her, holding something hot that nobody had let her put down.
“But why here?” Daniel said.
Mara looked at the faces turned toward her. “I don't know how to keep it. The nice part. And tell you.”
Daniel looked at her, his eyes bright. “I wasn't asking you to fetch her.”
“I know.”
“I was thanking you.”
Mara felt her hand tighten on the chair. She had wanted the thanks. She wanted them still, even now, while he was looking at her like that.
“I can't bring her home,” she said. “I won't ask her to come home for me.”
He shook his head once, very slightly. The room had gone far too quiet for the number of people left in it.
“I'm going to take her things over,” Mara said. “Like I told you.”
Daniel stepped away from his chair. For a moment she thought he would leave first. He stopped beside Leo instead and put a hand on his shoulder. Leo lifted his head, then lowered it again.
“Go on, then,” Daniel said.
She nodded. The chair stayed where she had left it, too far from the table for anyone to pass easily. She pushed it back into place. The napkin fell. She bent to pick it up, her face close to the little dark mark on the carpet, and put it beside her plate.
“I'm sorry,” she said to the room.
Doreen stood and took a cup from the tray. She held it out toward the woman with the coffee pot, who came forward at once. Simon began asking who wanted coffee. His voice was too loud at first; he lowered it on the next question. Sonia was looking at her folded hands. Anne touched Bev's wrist.
Mara took her coat from the hook. She couldn't remember where her bag was. Iris came behind her carrying it.
“You left it under the chair.”
“Thank you.”
They stood in the narrow hall. Through the open door Mara could see Daniel sitting beside his son, looking at something on the table. Nell had moved her chair a little closer to Iris's empty place.
“You asked him to come,” Iris said.
“I know.”
“He thought it was going to be nice.”
Mara looked at her daughter. Her green sleeves hung past her wrists, one cuff caught against the strap of the bag she'd brought out for Mara. She freed it with two fingers.
“It was nice,” Mara said.
Iris waited. Mara had no sentence that could keep that true for all of them now.
“I'm going back in,” Iris said. “Leo shouldn't have to sit with it by himself.”
“All right.”
She handed over the bag, then put a hand against her mother's arm. Mara stood still beneath it. The touch lasted only a moment.
“Tell me when you get there,” Iris said.
“I will.”
Iris went back into the room. Mara heard her say something to Nell, then the sound of her chair moving. Nobody came to the door to watch Mara leave.
Outside, the air was cold enough to make her inhale sharply. She walked to the car, put the key in the wrong way, turned it and tried again. The bag for Elena lay on the back seat where she'd left it. She had put the seat belt around it so it wouldn't slide.
Mara sat behind the wheel. For a while she kept both hands in her lap. Her brother's words came back to her with none of the room around them: I was thanking you.
She looked at the clock. There was time. If she called Elena to say Sunday after all, the bag could stay where it was. She could go back inside, stand beside Daniel and ask if there was any coffee left.
She put the key into the ignition. It fitted properly this time. When she could see clearly she started the engine, checked the mirror and pulled out into the street.