Dad had planned for all of us to return to his house afterward because Madison and Ethan had traveled in for the event.
Normally, I would have gone back to my apartment.
That night, I followed them home.
The Bennett house looked almost unchanged from my childhood.
Same brick steps.
Same brass porch light.
Same maple tree Mom had planted the year Madison started kindergarten.
Inside, Dad automatically turned on the lamp beside Mom’s old chair.
Then he stood there for a second, as though realizing what he had done.
Nobody commented.
Madison changed out of her heels and curled up on the sofa.
Ethan loosened his tie.
I went upstairs and changed from my uniform into dark trousers and a sweater I had left in the guest room.
When I returned, Dad was making tea.
Dad never made tea.
Mom had made tea.
Dad made coffee strong enough to repair pavement.
