dining room.
Karen was arranging silverware.
The good set.
The one she only used for holidays or special guests.
“Why did you tell my father not to come?”
She placed a fork beside a plate and turned toward me.
She didn’t look surprised.
“Rick, you know how my parents are.”
“What does that have to do with Dad?”
She sighed.
“Your father smells like an old garage. My mother notices things like that, and I don’t want to spend Thanksgiving managing the situation.”
I stared at her.
“He’s not coming,”
