Chapter 10 - The Sunday Dinner
Six months later.
It was a warm, bright Sunday afternoon in June.
My small back patio was set with a simple wooden picnic table—no white tablecloths, no crystal stemware, no silver candelabras. Just bright yellow wildflowers in mason jars and paper napkins.
Ethan was sitting at the end of the table, wearing jeans and a simple t-shirt, laughing as he poured glasses of iced tea. He had opened his own small, independent legal practice in downtown Cary, specializing in advocate work for small-business owners who had been taken advantage of by large corporations. He looked younger, healthier, and happier than he had in years.
Sitting across from him was Julian Vance.
Julian had cleared his father’s name completely. The state had officially cleared Richard Vance’s record, and Julian had used his father’s share of the recovered restitution funds to start a non-profit foundation providing legal support for working-class families.
"Food's coming!" I called out, walking through the screen door carrying a massive, heavy iron platter.
I set it down in the middle of the table.
It was Walt’s Sunday pot roast, glistening in thick dark gravy with tender carrots and potatoes, accompanied by a fresh batch of sharp cheddar scalloped potatoes and a hot, sweet pecan pie resting on the side counter.
Julian looked at the dish, smelling the rich aroma, and smiled warmly at me.
"Evelyn," Julian said, raising his glass of iced tea. "To Walt. And to the food that brought us home."
"To Walt," Ethan agreed, clinking his glass against Julian’s.
May you like
I sat down at the head of the table between my son and the son of Walt’s true friend. I looked at the food, the warm sunshine, and the smiling faces around me.
"Eat up, boys," I said with a quiet smile. "It fits the theme just fine."
