The Dinner She Was Told to Skip

And Chad, my husband, the new district sales manager for eleven counties, set his plate on the sideboard and walked out through the kitchen. We all listened to the garage door. We listened to him come back. He carried the sixth chair in against his chest, set it at the side of the table down by Jeff, and stood behind it.

I sat down at the head of the table with Lucy in the crook of my arm.

Nobody said anything. Then Kim got up, came around, took my plate and filled it herself. Brisket, beans, slaw, two rolls. She set it in front of me, and without a word she cut the meat into pieces, because she could see I had only the one hand.

It was Mr. Lindgren who finally spoke.

“Beth, I’d like to ask you something. You tell me if it’s none of my business.”

“All right.”

“That contraption.” He nodded at the monitor. “Did you leave it down here on purpose?”

Chad’s head came up. I could feel him looking at me, waiting to see whether I would make it worse or better for him.

I thought about saying I’d forgotten it there. It would have been easy, and everybody at the table would have let me.

“Yes sir,” I said. “I put it there.”

“Why?”

“Because I was told to stay upstairs tonight. I was told I wasn’t back in shape yet, and it would be best if you and your wife didn’t see me.” My voice shook, but I kept it low. Lucy was asleep. “And I said okay. But I’ve got two babies and one pair of hands and a doctor who won’t let me carry them both on the stairs. I thought somebody down here should be able to hear me if I needed help. So I turned it on, and I turned it up.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I didn’t know I’d say any of what I said. I’m sorry you had to hear it over your supper.”

“I’m not,” said Mr. Lindgren.

He turned to Chad then. He took his time doing it.

“I’ve been coming to these suppers for nineteen years,” he said. “Thirty-some houses. I’ve eaten off card tables. I ate once in a kitchen with a calf in a box by the stove. I have never cared what a place looked like.” He laid his big hand flat on the bluebells. “I come to see how a man treats what is his to look after. Because I’m about to hand him eleven counties of families who have had hail and drought and hog prices fall out from under them. And some February, one of them is going to be standing in a shed looking the worse for wear. Not at his best. Not fit for company. And I need to know what my manager does with a person in that condition.”

Chad’s mouth opened.

“I’m not finished. The job is yours. I gave my word on it, and I don’t take my word back over one supper. That is not what tonight is about. But you asked me in to see who you are, and I’ve seen it, and so has everybody at this table. What you do about that is up to you. I’d start with her.”

Chad looked at me down the length of that table. I have known his face since I was twenty-four. I had never seen it with nothing on it. No sales smile. No plan.

“Beth,” he said. It came out hoarse. “I’m sorry.”