Chapter 4

The dining room looked larger when nobody needed anything from me. I turned every chair upside down on its table and swept beneath them, following the same path I had taken for twenty-three years.

At the corner table, I found two sugar grains caught beside the radiator. The woman from the chamber always left them there after stirring her husband's coffee twice.

I wiped the place clean. Then I set the cloth over my shoulder and carried the cups into the kitchen.

Casper usually counted the spoons while I washed them. He would whistle until I gave him the bent one, then hold it up as if I had made it crooked for him personally.

That evening, the spoons lay in a wet heap beside my hand. I counted them twice because no voice supplied the wrong number after mine.

The old pan hung above the range, its black rim catching the kitchen light. I rubbed the inside with salt and a folded cloth, working around the sides with three fingers and never letting water settle near the seam.

I had served the Hallorans from the table nearest the door because he disliked having people pass behind him. I had moved the Beckett anniversary to Thursdays after her knees made the Saturday crowd difficult. None of it appeared on a seating plan.

The front latch turned while I was polishing the outer rim. Casper came through with his coat still buttoned and looked past the empty tables toward the kitchen. "You're still here."

"I'm closing."

He kept his hand on the door. "I thought you'd be done."

"So did I."

He gathered the clean glasses from the drainboard, though the shelves were already full. Two went beside the coffee urn. The third stayed in his hand.

"Ilse needs the good chairs tomorrow."

"How many?"

"Twelve. Just until hers come."

"Take twelve."

He put the glass down and glanced at the pan. His face eased, as if finding it on its hook had answered the question he had brought inside.

"You kept it here."

"It belongs here."

"Good. I knew you wouldn't make this harder than it is."

He waited for me to agree. When I did not, he found the chair keys on their nail and tested each one against his thumb.

"She'll only need them a few weeks. The dinner's one night, Odile. After that, everything goes back to normal."

"Whose normal?"

His fingers closed around the keys. He looked toward the dining room, where twelve tables stood on their heads and every place waited for morning.

"Do you want me to leave six?"

I lifted the pan down off its hook and set it on the cold side of the range, and I wiped my hands, and I left it there.