“I do.”
“Then why am I being asked to pay for everyone’s dinner before anybody has even apologized?”
Her smile disappeared.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then Jace laughed again.
He leaned toward Dewey.
“You still want that bet?”
Dewey looked uncomfortable.
“Jace, come on.”
My brother ignored him.
He looked directly at me.
“I bet him fifty dollars your card would be declined.”
For several seconds, I stared.
Then I looked around the table.
Aunt Bonnie had stopped eating.
Jill looked furious.
Spencer was sitting very still.
Mom sighed.
“Jace, stop teasing.”
He shrugged.
“I’m just having fun.”
I looked toward my watch.
Nineteen minutes.
Then Jace’s newest seafood platter arrived.
It was enormous.
Two lobsters.
A dish of melted butter.
A white bib the waitress placed beside the plate.
He tied the bib around his neck and picked up the cracker.
Then looked toward me.
“Here’s the thing, little brother. You always thought you were better than everybody.”
I didn’t answer.
He continued.
“You went off to Tennessee, and now you’re back with nothing to show for it.”
I looked toward the table.
For a moment, I thought about the business I’d built.
The six employees who depended on me.
The house Mallerie and I owned.
Theo sleeping at Leanne’s.
The wedding on Aunt Fay’s patio.
The life my brother knew nothing about.
I could have told him everything.
But something about the situation made me realize it wouldn’t matter.
He didn’t want to know who I’d become.
He wanted the room to continue believing the story he’d told for ten years.
Then the door opened.
Mallerie walked in.
She moved calmly along the table.
Rested one hand on my shoulder.
Then kissed my cheek.
“Ready to go, honey?”
Jace recognized her immediately.
The lobster cracker slipped from his hand.
And for the first time that evening, the story he’d constructed around my supposed failure stopped working.
Aunt Bonnie was the first person to speak.
“Mallerie Fincher?”
My wife smiled.
“Hello, Miss Bonnie.”
Aunt Bonnie stared.
“Is that really you?”
Mallerie nodded.
“It is.”
Then she looked toward me.
“And it’s Mallerie Bennett now.”
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Jace slowly stood.
His seafood bib was still tied around his neck.
He stared between us.
Then said something angry and disbelieving.
“You planned this.”
I looked toward him.
“Mallerie came because she’s my wife.”
His expression hardened.
“You brought her here to show me up.”
I shook my head.
“Jace, I’ve been sitting here drinking iced tea.”
He looked toward Mallerie.
Then toward the relatives.
For a moment, the confidence he’d carried all evening began disappearing.
Mom leaned forward.
“Mallerie, honey, we didn’t know.”
My wife looked toward her.
“I imagine there’s a lot you don’t know.”
The room became quiet.
Then Jace spoke.
“You always got everything, Corey.”
I stared.
He continued.
“The teachers liked you. Woody liked you. Everybody thought you were such a good kid.”
For a moment, I didn’t answer.
Then he looked toward Mallerie.
“And she was supposed to—”
He stopped.
Mallerie turned toward him.
“Supposed to what, Jace?”
He looked away.
She waited.
Then she said something calmly.
“I wasn’t something you could win from your brother.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Mallerie looked around the table.
Then she explained what happened ten years earlier.
The message sent from my phone.
The cruel words.
The heartbreak.
The years she believed I’d written them.
Then she explained how we’d met again at her aunt’s house in Tennessee.
How I’d shown her the returned letter.
How we’d finally learned what Jace had done.
Jace tried to interrupt.
“It was a stupid joke.”
Mallerie looked directly at him.
“A joke ends when everybody understands it was a joke.”
He stared.
She continued.
“You let Corey believe I’d left him for somebody else. You let me believe he hated me.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“Then you watched both of us lose years of our lives over something you did deliberately.”
For a moment, the room was completely still.
Uncle Roger set down his fork.
He looked toward Jace.
“That happened at my place, didn’t it?”
Jace stared.
“The bonfire.”
My brother looked away.
Uncle Roger continued.
“Corey confronted you, and you said it was a joke.”
For the first time, somebody who’d been there was remembering the event without repeating Mom’s explanation.
Mallerie reached into her handbag.
She removed the old envelope.
The paper had yellowed.
The return sticker was faded.
She placed it carefully on the table near Mom.
“This is the letter Corey wrote after he learned the truth.”
Mom stared.
Mallerie continued.
“He tried to reach me. He tried to explain. He didn’t know where I’d gone.”
My mother’s hand moved toward the envelope.
Then stopped.
For several seconds, she didn’t speak.
Mallerie looked toward her.
“You knew Jace had sent the message.”
Mom lowered her eyes.
“You were standing there when Corey confronted him.”
Aunt Bonnie looked toward Mom.
“Cindy?”
My mother took a breath.
“I was trying to keep the family together.”
I stared.
For ten years, I’d carried that sentence inside me.
Now, hearing it again, I understood something I hadn’t been able to explain when I was eighteen.
Mom hadn’t kept the family together.
She’d simply decided which son’s feelings were easier to disregard.
I looked toward her.
“You kept the part that stayed, Mom.”
Her eyes filled.
I continued.
“You didn’t ask what it cost me to leave.”
For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Jace pulled the bib from his neck.
He looked toward Mallerie.
Then toward me.
“So what? You’re successful now? Is that what this is?”
I didn’t answer.
Mallerie did.
“Corey owns a concrete company in Chattanooga. He has six employees, a home, and a reputation he’s worked hard to build.”
She looked toward the relatives.