Nobody reached for a knife. A child stopped in the doorway and was pulled back by an aunt. The football game scored and nobody turned. The chair stayed empty. The pie stayed whole. Derrick looked at the chair as if it had been a secret with a seat, and Patrice looked at him, and Vanessa did not move her hand.
Patrice set the towel down. Her voice was not loud. Loud had been Vanessa’s job.
“A daughter.”
“Imani,” Vanessa said. “Seventeen. Lorraine is her mother. They live in Dayton. He sends the money on the first. I have seen the book.”
Derrick said, “Vanessa.”