Dinner Plate

Maria studied her aunt JoAnne, who had taken the leader's seat at the head of the table. She chose a chair at the opposite end with three settings between them. The two faced one another, giving Maria a clear view of her aunt's plate and her aunt a direct sight line into Maria's face and plate. Maria chose her spot so she could spy. Not with malice — no one deliberately hid anything in this household — but to uncover truths among the peas, potatoes, chicken, and rolls.

Maria had arrived late last night from back East. Anything past the Cascade Mountains was East in her mind. She could see the signs of the Pacific Northwest in the table setting: lacking a tablecloth, a forest green placemat framed each setting. Rosy red tulips with yellow centers, mixed with pale white daffodils, graced the middle of the mahogany dining table. Fern sprigs circled the beeswax candles.

Maria felt pleased to be back home in Concrete, Washington, where she could depend on the subtle complexities of their simple life. As Maria took her place, she noted her aunt's nod, an indication of approval as well as a gesture to be alert. JoAnne wore the white linen dress, a sign that Maria was still in her favor, and she had pulled her hair back in a low bun with a black velvet ribbon encircling stray hairs. Around her neck, a scarf of red tulips hid the necklace of hearts, a necklace rarely worn and even now obscured. Her wheelchair, concealed by the adaptation of padded armrests with a cloth that matched the sofa and armchairs, fit snugly under the dining table.

Maria had been gone for over a year, and this dinner was a valiant attempt at appearing normal.

"Pass me the chicken, will you, Maria de la Via?"

Maria de la Via was a nickname that JoAnne used when she needed Maria to be on her best behavior. Ever since Maria was little, they would pretend that she came from an aristocratic family from the Deep South. In order for Maria to learn her manners, JoAnne would continue the ruse when they dined with influential families from town. Now at twenty-six, Maria found this game annoying. She had come home because of a frantic phone call: JoAnne needed to fly to the Caribbean on a "mission."

As Maria passed the roasted chicken, she watched for signs of why her aunt had invited this group of people to their home. She knew that the chicken on the platter was from their own yard, since JoAnne held a strict food philosophy. Never eating meat or poultry outside of their home, she had a mantra: "If you can't grow it and kill it, you shouldn't eat it." For that reason alone, the town thought JoAnne was a finicky eater, or worse yet, a vegetarian. Roasted chicken was reserved for family and friends who appreciated the hard work of raising, slaughtering, and cooking.

"Good to have you back home, young woman." It was their old neighbor, Russell. At eighty-eight, he looked kinder and sweeter than ever and had clearly dressed up to be here. His white hair no longer covered his head; the few strands left stood up to salute the sky and competed with his beard, which refused the edge of a razor. He wore an old blue shirt that showed the wear of buttonholes frayed from washing. The shirt complemented his blue eyes that could still penetrate a stranger's soul. Today, they peered out from behind the bouquet of flowers he had strategically placed at his setting. Even though JoAnne had made peace with his gossiping ways, he still shied from her sharp eyes. He must have brought the flowers as an offering, since tulips and daffodils were his specialty.

As Maria passed the chicken, she winked at Russell. His thin lips curled upward until JoAnne looked at him. Maria felt an undercurrent of disapproval. Something was going on.

"Please, help yourselves," JoAnne directed. "Spencer must have been delayed."

Each of the guests took a helping of chicken. Of the five settings, one seat to her aunt's left remained empty. JoAnne was a stickler for timing, and Maria wondered who was this Spencer who would receive her aunt's wrath?

Molly McCain sat opposite Russell with her head down as if praying. She was almost the same age as Russell, but meaner and uglier. Maria could almost hear the hushed whisper of warning from JoAnne: "Unkind thoughts beget unkind actions." Molly and her aunt had been feuding over property rights since Maria was four. Why, after so many years, was Molly here eating with them?

Molly took the chicken and the potatoes, peas, and applesauce, piling the food in the center of her plate. She heaped the food so high that her chin touched the edge and stuck there, defying anyone to mention the obvious. Nothing had changed in her world of greedy entitlement.

After the mysterious phone call of a week ago had brought Maria home, she had expected a heart-to-heart conversation alone with JoAnne, not this odd dinner party. Intrigued, she studied her aunt's plate for clues.

JoAnne's peas were scattered around the edges of the potatoes, a clear sign of nerves. She usually made pictures or circles before devouring them one by one. Today, they were strewn with no pattern, cast off. Clearly without appetite, JoAnne cut each piece of her chicken until her plate was filled with bite-sized chunks.

After the silence of mouths chewing, the swallowing and sipping of wine, Maria finally caught her aunt's eye. The green flecks that peppered JoAnne's hazel eyes flashed a warning. Not sure if it was anger, fear, or excitement, Maria kept her head bent. Although she was starved, she couldn't eat. A missing guest, no toast or words of thanks for the meal? Despite her good intentions of keeping quiet, words spilled from her lips, "Let's all make a toast to —" Before Maria could finish, JoAnne clicked her wine glass with her fork, "A toast to seeing old friends."

Maria almost spilled her wine. Russell was their benevolent knight not ever quite dressed in shining armor. He was nosy and a nuisance and always trying to propose to JoAnne, and when that didn't...